Greatly Exaggerated
by mchicken
Summary: Steve and Mike deal with the fallout from a mysterious item in the newspaper.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: After a several month hiatus, my muse has decided to make a return visit. She has very little sense, as this is the busiest time of year for school teacher/bakers. I make no promises on the promptness of my updates, so if you chose to wait until the story is complete, I totally understand. This story may turn out to be a comedy or a tragedy, or a bit of both. The jury is still out on that one.**

 **The standard disclaimers apply. Didn't invent these fine gentlemen, nor do I own them. I only take them out to play, I make no money from this endeavor. I promise to return them when I am done, although they may be slightly worse for the wear. MBC**

 **Greatly Exaggerated**

Steve grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table at 768 De Haro Street. Mike was taking an inordinate amount of time in getting his act together this morning. Steve commiserated with his lagging partner as he absentmindedly brushed the bandage on back of his left hand. After another late night spent in the ER, getting stitched up as a result of his close encounter with a broken bottle; Steve chalked up his partner's delay to the fact that Mike was, more than likely, just as tired as he was.

 _The Chronicle_ laid on the table, itching to be read. He glanced at the headlines wondering what the world was coming to. The President of the United States had announce his resignation last night on national television and Steve read through the maudlin recap splashed on the front page. The country would soon be led by a man who had not been elected for the job of president, or even vice president, but was appointed by the disgraced man he was replacing.

With a sigh, Steve flipped past the front page to the international news, for the moment unable to stomach the path the nation was toeing. After catching up on OPEC's latest shenanigans and the normal outrage-o-thon on the editorial page, he turned to the local headlines.

Steve perused stories about the newest information regarding the ongoing SLA/Patty Hearst saga, alleged BART mismanagement and political blustering about violent crime statistics. Further demoralized, he paged to the back of the section. Steve never really knew why he was drawn to the obituaries, but for some reason he read them on a regular basis. The details of lives well led, or lives over too soon held a strange fascination for him. He supposed it was a result of his job. Dealing with death on a daily basis made him acutely aware of the transitory nature of life. When you came right down to it, an obituary was tangible proof, in black and white, that someone had lived.

000000

Mike heard the coffee cup smash as he was coming down the stairs. He picked up his pace. Entered the kitchen, he found Steve on his hands and knees, trying to mop up coffee that had erupted from the broken mug on the floor. He seemed a touch pale and shaken to Mike.

What's up buddy boy? It looks like you've seen a ghost." Mike asked as he grabbed a tea towel and tossed it to Steve.

Steve finished with the cleanup and dropped the shards of pottery into the trash bin. "Well I haven't, but you might have." He replied cryptically. The young detective seemed to rally as he washed and dried his hands. Steve picked up the newspaper and slipped it into Mike's hand with a flourish, pointing at an item.

 _ **KELLER, STEVEN J.**_

 _ **1944-1974**_

 _ **At 11:39 pm, on August 8, 1974. Inspector Steven J. Keller, of the San Francisco Police department succumbed to duty-related injuries at San Francisco General Hospital. Inspector Keller, a homicide detective, is a UCBerkeley graduate and a 6 year veteran of the SFPD. Keller is survived by his father, a resident of Modesto, California. Steve, as he was known to his friends and fellow policemen, is remembered as a dedicated and compassionate public servant and a loyal friend. Visitors may call to pay their respects on Sunday, August 11, 1974, 2-4 pm at Halsted Funeral Home, 1123 Sutter Street, San Francisco, California. Interment will follow a private ceremony on Monday, August 12, 10 am at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park, Colma, California. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations can be made to SFPD benevolent fund.**_

"Apparently, I've reached my expiration date," He said with a grin, "Really wish someone would have warned me." Steve continued on, snickering at what he now took to be a very funny joke. "On the plus side, I guess I don't have to go to work today. Correct me if I'm wrong, but um, I'm pretty sure _meeting my maker_ is a valid excuse for missing work." Steve took off his tie and undid the top button of his collar. He made a show of getting another cup of coffee, plus one for Mike, and settled in with the rest of the paper, adding "This is going to be great, I really needed a day off."

Mike was dumbfounded. How could a mistake like this possibly happen? True, they had been in the emergency room last night, but in what red tape level of hell did ten stitches turn into a fatality? He dropped into a chair, still shaking his head. Thinking about the bureaucracy of death he mused, _I don't think Steve realizes it yet, but this is going to turn into a huge headache_.

Several minutes passed in silence as Mike concentrated on his coffee and Steve busied himself with the crossword. Mike suddenly jumped up and ran to the phone.

"Where's the fire?" Steve called, as Mike frantically dialed the phone. Steve got up and followed his partner into the hall.

"Jeannie!" was all Mike said as he tapped his foot nervously.

Steve face fell. "Don't tell me, she reads the San Francisco papers in the library at school," he said with a groan, as the humor of the situation evaporated.

"Not all the time, but better safe than sorry." Mike replied as he listened to the phone ring for the twelfth time. He slammed down the handset and turned to Steve. "Let me see that obit again."

Mike reread the item, disquieted by the level of detail. He had a very uneasy feeling. Was this really a simple mistake or something much more sinister?


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: With apologies to a certain British comedy troop of the period, our story continues…**_

The phone rang immediately when Mike replaced the receiver. On the other end was a very loud, very flustered Rudy Olsen.

"Mike, what the hell happened last night? The sun was barely up before I had Mathers from the Chronicle asking for a statement about the death of one of my inspectors. That was quickly followed by that blond girl from Channel 5. I can't be left in the dark like this, finding out about Keller from the press. I gave them all a definitive no comment. You really should have called me!" Rudy spouted without taking a breath.

When Rudy ran out of words, Mike jumped in. "Calm down Rudy, Steve's not dead; unless there is a specter here, drinking coffee and reading my paper. We only saw the obituary a few minutes ago. Steve got some stitches in the ER last night, but he was not mortally wounded," Mike took a sideways glance at his young partner, "unless you count his pride."

Steve rolled his eyes at the last comment, but if he had to admit it, letting a chick get the drop on him in an alley last night was a tad embarrassing.

"Well, then I repeat my first question. What the hell happened?" Rudy reiterated, loudly enough for Steve to hear, even though Mike was the one with the phone.

"Rudy, I have no idea, but trust me, as soon as I get off the phone, I'm going to find out."

Mike hung up the phone and before he could take his hand off the receiver, it rang again. He looked at Steve who shrugged and mouthed apologetically, _it's not my fault._

"Mike, what's going on?" asked an agitated voice.

"Jeannie," Mike said with a ruefully sigh. Steve winced at the mention of her name, knowing that she had seen the paper. His mind reeled at the potential fallout from his untimely demise. It dawned on him that while he found the situation amusing, it was going to turn into a problem and have some serious emotional aftermath. Even though he didn't have family, he did have a number of people he was going to have to contact. As he made a mental list, he was roused from his thoughts by Mike's insistent voice.

"I promise you sweetheart, it's a mistake. Steve is standing right here." Mike tried to reassure his alarmed offspring with little success, finally thrusting the phone in Steve's direction.

"Would you please tell her you're ok?" Mike huffed as he grabbed his coat and hat, "And then just leave the phone off the hook or we will never get out of here this morning."

Steve took the phone and patiently convinced Jeannie that he was, in fact, still amongst the living, and further assured her that he intended to stay that way for a long time. He apologized profusely for upsetting her and bid her goodbye, not replacing the receiver on the cradle, as Mike had suggested.

"I guess saying that this day is gonna be murder is overkill," Steve deadpanned to his partner as he replace his tie and jacket.

Mike groaned, giving Steve a swat with the newspaper he had collect from the kitchen. "One more crack like that and maybe I'll make the obit come true." Mike added with exasperation, "Let's go and try to figure out how this happened, wise guy."

000000

Steve pulled the tan LTD into the Bryant Street lot.

Mike turned to Steve before they got out of the car, "Are you ready for this?"

"How can I be ready for this?" Steve answered with a raised eyebrow, "Doesn't the bible say something about not knowing the day or the hour? You know I just wanted to stay home and just rest in peace."

"Are you going knock it off any time soon?"

"Knock off, really Mike?" Steve replied with a smirk, "you shouldn't say that to people who are living impaired."

Mike looked down and rubbed his eyes. "Is this going to go on all day?"

"Probably," Steve replied cheekily a he got out and slammed the door. "If I can't have some fun with this, I will probably spend the day pining for the fjords."

As they walked through the hall towards homicide, they were greeted with gaping stares.

"It's seems the news of my tragic passing has preceded me," Steve said with a faux air of solemnity.

"STOP IT," Mike barked with rising irritation. "I really don't see the humor in all of this."

"Oh, come on Mike, you've got to admit that there is so much death related humor, I will be pushing up daisies by the time I exhaust it all." Steve just couldn't seem to help himself. Mike responded by giving Steve a push through the bull pen door.

Mike went over to his office and hung up his raincoat and fedora. He stepped back out to grab a cup of coffee and noticed Steve gaping at his workspace. His name plate, coffee cup and personal items were conspicuously absent from the top of his desk. Even the typewriter and the stack of current files had been removed. Steve opened the drawers to find the entire desk empty. A chill crept up the back of Steve's neck.

"Ah, Mike, what happed to my stuff?" He asked, looking around for a coffee cup.

"Boy, they didn't waste any time clearing out your desk, did they? Who would have thought the department could be that efficient? We better get a jump on this before they erase you completely." Mike commented with a wink. Now, Steve was the one to sigh.

Steve had his back turned getting coffee when the bull pen door opened. A very somber looking Norm Haseejian and Bill Tanner entered, their quiet conversation stopping dead as they caught sight of Steve returning to his now denuded desk. Steve shook off the shiver his empty desk caused upon seeing the surprised and delighted expressions on his coworkers' faces. "Gee guys, you look a little spooked." He said with a mischievous lilt to his voice.

Steve was startled as Norm wrapped him in crushing bear hug. "Norm, I didn't know you cared," Steve squeaked as he extricated himself from Norm's suffocating embrace.

"We really thought you were dead, particularly when IA came a cleared out your desk." Said Bill shaking Steve's hand vigorously. Both Bill and Norm looked from Steve to Mike and back, again."

"Before you ask, we have no idea what's going on, and if I can get the dearly departed moving, maybe we can find out." Said Mike, motioning to Steve to follow him into his office.

"Anything we can do to help Mike," Norm added with a wink, "Just ask, I don't know how much work you're going to get out of this stiff."

000000

"Steve, let's split this up. You call the paper and the funeral home, I'll call the hospital and Vital Statistics. To be safe, you might not want to give them your name. It might be a little disconcerting to get a call from beyond the grave, if you know what I mean. Let's see if we can figure out where the chain of events began, and what we have to do to bring you back from your eternal reward."

"I'm glad to see you've gotten into the spirit of things, Mike," Steve replied as he copied the name and address of the funeral home from the newspaper into his notebook. "I will say, it is a little creepy that there is a services and interment planned already."

Mike picked up the phone and called San Francisco General. It bothered him that he knew the number without looking it up. He spend a few minutes talking to various paper pushers before reaching the records department.

"This is Sheila, how can I help you?"

"Hello, Sheila, this Lt. Stone of the SFPD, I was wondering if you can give me a hand?" After several minutes with the chief records clerk, Mike discovered to his dismay, that a death certificate had been signed and forwarded to The Bureau of Vital Statistics. To access any other information, he would have to make a personal visit to the records department at the hospital.

At his empty desk, Steve contemplated whom he should call at the paper. There were a number of sources he could tap, but decided on Maura, a vivacious red head with whom he had a number of amusing encounters. They'd parted on amiable terms, he thought, at least she would take his call. He decided to ignore Mike's advice about anonymity on this call.

"Maura Williams, city desk." She answered the phone in a clipped professional manner that Steve recognized as her phone voice.

"Maura, how are you, this is Steve Keller."

There was dead silence on the other end. _Maybe Mike was right_ , Steve though, I _guess news travels fast at the_ paper. Eventually, an angry voice sounded on the other end. "I don't know who this is, but this is a really sick joke. I suggest you get off the line right now before I call the cops."

"Maura, wait, listen," Steve sputtered as he thought desperately of something he could say to convince her of his identity. "It's me, the obit was a mistake, really."

Maura was torn, it did sound like Steve, "Ok buddy, if it's really Steve where did we go on our third date?"

He thought back, "Um, we didn't go anywhere, well we were supposed to go to Chinatown for dinner, but we um, never made it out of your apartment, we wound up getting take out." Steve recalled with a sly grin, _trick question_. Mike chose that moment to look over at his partner and noticed a blush and a grin on the younger man's face, and shook his head.

"STEVE! Oh my god, what's going on?"

Steve spent the next few minutes explaining the mistaken obit and reassuring Maura, the he was in, fact still amongst the breathing. He even managed to get a promise for a date very soon. Sympathy dating, he mused.

"So Maura, how is an obit usually called into the paper?"

"Well, it sometimes is the family, but usually it's funneled through the funeral home."

"Thanks, love, let's not let too much time pass away before we see one another." Steve heard a groan and a chuckle on the other end of the line as he looked at his notebook for the funeral home number.

As he dialed the number for Vital Statistics, Mike glanced back over toward the outer office. He saw Steve hang up the phone, redial and speak into the receiver. Mike watched Steve blanch at the sound of whatever was said on the other end of the line. He got up quickly, just as Steve hung up the phone and turned toward Mike.

"We have a problem, Mike." his partner said quietly, all jocularity evaporated from his voice. "We have a body."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but real life took an ugly turn this week. It may be some time before another update. Enjoy.**_

As they exited the bull pen, Steve related his conversation with George Anders, the director at Halsted Funeral home.

"He said they got the call about 10:30 last night to come pick up my body." Steve stated without emotion.

Mike gave Steve a quizzical look. "We were still in the emergency room at that point, weren't we?"

"Yeah, that was my first thought. And get this, there were already arrangements in place when they got the call. According to Anders they were made over a year ago. That's why everything happened so quickly. They even had an obit prepared to send to the paper. When I asked them if they checked the body, he said with the paperwork and ID from the hospital, there was no need. He also told me there wasn't anything done to the remains because the visitation is to have a closed casket. And Mike, get this, there is already a headstone installed at the cemetery! Whoever arranged this has some serious scratch to throw around, on a what, a prank?"

When they got to the car, Mike paused and leaned his forearms on the roof of the car, looking back at his Steve. He sensed the haunted agitation behind his young partner's neutral façade. Mike could tell that, despite his comments, Steve didn't think this was a joke or prank anymore. Truth be told, Mike too was feeling deeply unsettled. This wasn't random. The level of preplanning and financing involved spoke of something a great deal more serious and possibly deadly. "Don't worry, buddy boy," Mike told Steve with a lot more confidence than he felt, "We'll get to the bottom of this."

"Right Mike," Steve replied wryly as he got in the car, "Hopefully it's not the bottom of a 6 foot hole."

00000

If you looked up mortician in the dictionary, Steve was pretty sure George Anders' picture would be there. Tall and gaunt in an Ichabod Crane way, he steepled his fingers as he spoke in a low, breathless manner. He was ghostly pale, with longish white hair and silvery eyes, his India ink black suit and tie provided a startling contrast to his overall _greyness._ This, along with somber background music and cloying odor of expiring flowers gave Steve the creeps.

"I assure you, nothing like this has ever happened in the over 100 year history of Halsted's." Anders said as he slowly shuffled through a pile of current folders. "Ah, here we go." He pulled a file from the stack. It was clearly labeled with Steve's name.

"Yes, yes I remember this," Anders said more to himself than to Mike and Steve." It's not terribly unusual for arrangements to be made well in advance in cases like these, so sad for someone so young."

"Ah, Mr. Anders, I'm sitting right here," Steve interjected with a huff. "What circumstances are we talking about?"

Anders pulled a hand written note from the front of the file. "It says here that the deceased," he continued in spite of Steve's pointed look. Mike shot a glare at Steve as if to say _give it a rest_. "…was wounded and crippled in a police action. The denouement was only a matter of time."

He made to hand the note to Mike. Before he could grab it, Steve put a restraining hand on his partners arm. "Fingerprints?"

"Maybe," Mike answered, "but ours are on file for exclusionary purposes." He took the note carefully by one corner.

"Who made and paid for the arrangement?" Steve asked as Mike studied the document."

"It was a young woman as I recall," Anders said as he continued to look through the file. "Here it is, Lois Staas, sister to the departed. So sad, she was very emotional. She said that the decedent was her only brother."

Steve made a note of the name and the phone number listed in the file. He didn't recognized the exchange. "Did she mention where she was from?"

"Not that I recall, but I got the feeling she was not local. She didn't have any idea where the cemetery was in relation to here."

"Do you remember what she looked like?"

"It was well over a year ago, but yes, I do. She was a striking woman, tall, thin, Chestnut hair, olive complexion and very odd pale green eyes. They were the color of worn dollar bills. She was quite overcome by the whole incident. Now that is not terribly unusual in this office, but between her tears, she kept repeating how unfair the whole situation was."

"Sound like any one you know?" Mike directed his question at Steve as he looked up from the document he was reading.

Steve shook his head and continued his inquiry, "Mr. Anders, how were the arrangements paid for."

Again he referred to the file, "Oh, this is odd," he said fingering his chin. "Everything was paid for up front, in cash."

 _Great._ Steve thought as Mike placed the file Anders gave handed him in a large envelope for the lab. _No paper trail._

"May we see the body now?" Mike asked as he rose from his chair.

Mr. Anders led the two detectives through a door at the end of the hall. Steve shuddered as the entered what appeared to be a holding area for the departed, with caskets lined up ready to be displayed for the grieving. Anders stopped at a gleaming walnut coffin with ornate brass fittings. On the lid was a plaque engraved with Steve's name.

Mike whistled. "This didn't come cheap," he commented looking at the elaborate coffin. "Somebody must have thought you were worth it," he added quietly, just for Steve's benefit. Steve rolled his eyes at Mike.

"No, it wasn't cheap, Lieutenant, this is our top of the line." Anders replied, ignoring the silent interaction between the detectives. "As I said, Ms. Staas was quite distraught. She wanted only the best for her brother."

The tall mortician undid the locks on the coffin. "This shouldn't be too bad, as he was only interred this morning." Georg Anders said as he lifted the top half of the split lid.

The whole experience of seeing _his_ coffin and then waiting for it to be opened, unnerved Steve. Never a fan of visits to the morgue, he was holding his breath as the lid opened. He looked quickly and just as quickly walked away and leaned on the far wall.

"Anybody we know?" Mike asked as he moved in for a closer look.

"I don't recognize him," Steve answered quietly, loosening his tie. "I'm just going to excuse myself and go call for Bernie and the boys from the morgue."

Mike nodded to Steve as he exited and moved in for a better look. The person in the casket had nothing in common with his partner, other than the fact that he was male. He looked to be about 60 years old and by his haggard appearance, many of those years had been roughly led.

Mike turned to address the hovering mortician, "Nobody thought it odd when they picked up the body of a 30 year old police officer and it looked like this?" Mike asked incredulously.

00000

Mike found the younger man leaning against the wall, under the awning in front of Halsted's Funeral Home. The grey misty day had given way to a proper storm, complete with squalling winds and pounding rain. Steve seemed to be unperturbed by the rain and cold as he stared down at the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Mike put his hand on Steve's arm. "You ok buddy boy?" Mike asked with concern.

"That, was by far one of the oddest experiences of my life," Steve answered. "I don't know Mike, the obit was one thing, but a coffin with your name on it raises the weird factor to the next level. Did you recognize the body?"

"No. But from the looks of it, I think your imposter lived a good part of his life on the streets. Is Bernie on the way?"

"Yep, I'm just waiting for the van, did Mr. Anders have any explanation for how this could happen?"

"Passed the buck. He put all the blame on the hospital. Says they called, his men picked up the body with the proper documents, and that was pretty much that. It's a little scary, actually. As long as there's paper, you're DOA." Mike emphasized the point by drawing his finger across his throat.

"Really, Mike?" Steve replied chuckling and shook his head.

Mike playfully grabbed Steve by the scruff of the neck. "Let's go check out the hospital, hot shot."

"Shouldn't we wait for Bernie?" Steve asked, but his question was moot as the coroner's van pulled up next to the curb.

00000

Mike checked in with Bernie before heading to the LTD. As Steve rounded the tail end, a delivery truck sped through a large puddle, drenching him from head to toe with chilled muddy water.

"Shit," he swore as he stepped back to the curb, shaking the water from his hair. Mike started to laugh but was silenced with a _don't even think about it_ look from Steve.

"I think we need to run by my apartment so I can change before we go anywhere, Mike," Steve said flatly as Mike continued to snicker behind his hand.

The rain tapered off as Steve pulled up at Union Street. He took the steps two at a time to his apartment, anxious to ditch his drenched garments and sopping shoes. Mike followed at a more leisurely pace, intent on brewing a pot of coffee while Steve changed. Mike was surprised to hear a loud thump accompanied by some off color language as he breached the landing.

"WHAT THE HELL?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Steve bellowed to no one in particular. Steve had his back against the door and was rubbing his foot.

"Now what?" Mike asked as Steve continued to grumble a steak of blue.

Steve pointed to a large hasp and padlock which effectively sealed his front door.

"Guess your landlord reads the paper, too." Mike said sympathetically.

"Oh, man. What am I going to do, Mike?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A clue and a lot of shameless Steve bashing**.

"Why do I get the feeling that the world is conspiring against me?" Steve asked no one in particular as he toweled his hair dry. He had manage to cobble together a respectable outfit between his locker and some odd pieces of his clothing that had wound up at Mike's house over the past few years. It wasn't up to his usual sartorial standards, but until he got in touch with his landlord Gary Thorne, it would have to do. Repeated calls had only served to raise his blood pressure. It seemed that Gary was out of town until Monday, making Steve essentially homeless until then.

He walked in stocking feet over to the coffee pot and poured a mugful of the warming lifeblood of the bull pen. He was fighting a chill that had nothing to do with the cold shower he'd received in front of the funeral parlor. Norm looked down at his feet and raised a querying eyebrow. Steve shrugged his shoulders and returned to his desk, resolving to avoid his sodden shoes until absolutely necessary.

It had been his intention to accompany Mike to the hospital records department as soon as he had changed, but Mike was called up to Rudy's office the minute they came in and had been gone for the better part of hour. With no sign of his partner's return, Steve settled in to spend some quality time with the telephone. He sat drinking coffee staring at a list of phone numbers, trying to prioritize the calls.

He opened his notebook and dialed the number Anders had given him for his "sister." Unsurprisingly, after a few all too familiar tones the voice on the other end informed him the number was not in service. He chose to ignore the automated suggestion to check the number and try again. He grabbed the phone book to look up the area code. _Las Vegas? I don't know anybody in Las Vegas._

Steve was about to call his contact with the Vegas Police when Norm sauntered over to his desk, not satisfied with a shrug for an answer to the sudden appearance of a damp and shoeless Steve. "What happened to you, a visit to Davy Jones Locker?" He asked with a smile and a slap on the back.

"Very funny, Norm," Steve replied mirthlessly as he steadied his coffee with two hands to counteract the impact of Norm's hand.

"Well it was funny two hours ago when you left, what gives?"

"Oh, I don't know, a dead body in a coffin with my name on it, my apartment sealed by my landlord, and a cold shower courtesy of a delivery van kinda sucked the life out of the whole near death experience."

"That stinks, kid. You need to come spend a few days with Uncle Norm at Chez Haseejian?"

"NO," Steve blurted with a bit too much pent up aggravation. He followed up with, "thanks, anyway Norm, I'll think of something," when he saw the detective's crestfallen expression.

"Well, offers on the table if you change your mind. Say, have you and Mike figured out anything on this yet? Seems like one hell of a big mistake."

"That's it Norm, I don't think it is a mistake anymore. The arrangements were set and paid for in cash by some mystery woman claiming to be my sister a year ago. The funeral parlor got a call and picked up a body with my name on it from the hospital and everything was set into motion. I'm just waiting on Mike to head over there now."

Norm looked pensive. "Who do you know that hates you enough to organize something this big?"

"That's the million dollar question, Norm, I haven't got a clue."

Mike came through door with a large manila envelope and a sour expression. As it was Friday, Norm's face lit up, knowing the contents of the precious package. Mike opened the parcel and removed a number of smaller envelopes.

"Ah, payday at last." Norm exclaimed grabbing the envelope proffered his way, "Come to papa!"

Steve looked up expectantly and extended his hand. Mike shook his head. "Seems payroll reads the paper as well, Steve. They've frozen your pay."

"Son of a …" Steve caught himself when he saw the expression on Mike's face.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. What do you think took me so long in Rudy's office? Seems once a death certificate is signed and filed, all your SFPD benefits are frozen until probate. That includes your insurance, too, so don't plan on getting sick anytime soon. Even with Olsen pleading your case, the mistress of red tape down in payroll would not budge. Sorry, buddy boy."

"Oh, man, this just keeps getting better and better. I think we're gonna need to stop at the bank on the way over to the hospital, Mike."

00000

Steve pulled the LTD in front of the Wells Fargo Branch on 4th Street where he regularly deposited his check. "Mike, I'll just be a couple of minutes, you coming in?"

"Sure." Mike responded. Normally, he would have cooled his heels in the car, but knowing how the day was wearing on Steve he decided to accompany his young partner.

Steve grabbed a withdrawal slip from the desk at the front of the bank lobby and filled it out. He walked over to the next available teller, a middle aged blonde named Janice. "Hey Janice, how's it going?" Steve said with a warm smile.

"Well, hello Inspector Keller, you're a little early today with your deposit." Janice replied with an equally pleasant expression.

"Yeah, little mix up with my pay, no check today, just a withdrawal." Steve said as he handed Janice the slip with his driver's license. The license was a formality, all the tellers knew the young inspector on sight.

Janice raised an eyebrow as she viewed the account information on her terminal. Mike saw Steve tense at her change of expression. "Easy, Steve." He said in a low voice, anticipating the news from the teller.

"Hey, your accounts are flagged, let me see what's going on." She punched a few more keys, and finally looked up at Steve with a frown, "It seems that your accounts are sealed."

Steve shook his head. "Beautiful," he said flatly. "Is Bob Donaldson around?"

"Sure Steve he's in his office, you want me to call him for you?"

"Thank you, that would be great, Janice."

00000

"Bob, I'm standing right here, you've known me for years, isn't there anything you can do? I'm obviously not dead!" Steve finally lost his cool. The surreal events of the day had beaten him into a red tape induced fury.

"Look Steve, you know if I could do anything for you, I would, but my hands are tied. Once a death certificate is filed, all assets are frozen until probate, or until you can get the certificate rescinded. My suggestion is you call your lawyer asap and get this worked out." The branch manager explained.

"And, how exactly am I supposed to PAY a lawyer when I have no money?" Steve responded sarcastically.

"Buddy boy," Mike began placing a reassuring hand on Steve's arm, "You know it's not his fault."

Steve pulled his arm away, "I KNOW MIKE! "It's just so damn frustrating."

Bob Donaldson, exchanged a look with Mike before looking back at Steve.

"I'm really, really sorry, but it's out of my hands."

00000

Steve ran his hand through his hair nervously as they left the bank and walked to the car. "What am I going to do Mike? Right now, I've got no home, no pay, no assets. I don't even have clean clothes to wear tomorrow and to make things just perfect, I'm walking around in shoes that feel like they've spent a few hours in a fish tank." He added snarkily, "You're Catholic, how does one rise from the dead?"

Mike let the last comment go, knowing it was part of a rant born out of exasperation. Understanding that he had to do something to lighten Steve's mood he began, "Well hotshot, what we won't do is roll over and play dead."

Steve took rolled his eyes and took a swipe at Mike's arm. Mike ducked away and continued, "We really need to get over to the hospital and figure out where this all started. Right now, don't worry about the other stuff, you know the spare room is yours as long as you need it. Soon as we get back, we'll give a call to Gerry O'Brien and see if he can recommend someone to help you undo this mess."

"Mike, can't I just use the legal service from our union?"

"Maybe, but if they are working at the same speed as everybody else in San Francisco seems to be today, you might not have union benefits anymore."

Steve slammed his palms down on the hood of the car in an expression of helpless irritation, "Why?"

"I don't know Steve, but as soon as we are done at the hospital, I think we need to spend some time with your files looking at who might have a reason and the means to cause you so much grief."

00000

Sheila Barnes was a sturdy 50ish woman with coal black hair and too red lipstick. She had black rimmed glasses and the pale complexion of someone who spent too much time pouring over files. She looked up and smiled warmly as Steve led the way to the counter of the hospital records department.

"What can I do for you handsome?" She crooned slipping her glasses off her nose and letting them dangle on the chain around her neck.

Mike caught up but Sheila ignored him in favor of the younger Inspector. Mike sighed, _he charms them all 6 to 60, well at least he still has that going for him,_ Mike thought. He cleared his throat trying to get her attention.

"We're looking for Sheila," Steve said.

"Well, sweetie, you've found her," the matronly clerk replied, pushing her hair behind her ears. Steve pulled his badge out of his pockets and flipped open the wallet for the clerk's inspection.

"Well young man, you can arrest me any time." Sheila said with a raised eyebrow and an undisguised flirt in her voice. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

Steve blushed and before he could respond, Mike stepped in, "Sheila, I'm Lieutenant Stone, we spoke earlier about a death certificate?"

Sheila glanced at Mike and returned her attention to Steve. "Have we met inspector, your name seems awfully familiar?"

Mike was starting to get irritated by the distracted file clerk, "Mrs. Barnes, the death certificate?"

"That's _Miss_ Barnes, Lieutenant, what was the name again?" She answered Mike in a clipped tone, still staring at Steve."

"Keller, Steven J. Keller." Steve answered this time, "Can we please see the file?" he added with a winning smile.

"I'm sorry, but to get that you'll need a court order. I was allowed to tell the Lieutenant that the certificate was filed, but I can only release the records to the family of the deceased or their personal representatives. You should know that Inspector." She added in a tone reminiscent of a mother scolding a naughty 3 year old.

Steve glanced at Mike who shrugged his shoulders in a kind of a _go ahead, what do you have to lose_ manner _._

"Sheila, I don't know how to explain this but, it's, uh, my record we're looking for."

It took a few minutes for the last statement to sink in. "Well that can't be right. Are you SURE?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry I let this sit so long. My Muse was hijacked by two other stories and an extended Holiday. I'm still not promising anything in the way of prompt updates, but without further ado..**.

Steve sat on the couch in Mike's living room with his eyes closed, wearing ill-fitting borrowed grey sweats. He had a beer precariously clutched in one hand and a file laying open on his lap. Mike got up and threw out the empty pizza box. Piled haphazardly next to the box were files. It was one am and they had been at it for hours, reviewing cases going back almost six years, which include his time in black and whites as well as his records as an inspector, with little success.

Steve woke up with a start as Mike grabbed the tilting bottle. "What? Wo, geez Mike you scared me to death." He stood up and dropped the file to the floor.

Mike took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "Enough, buddy boy, let's call it a night."

Steve retrieved the file folder and tossed it on the coffee table. "Sure Mike, whatever you say," he mumbled as he followed Mike up the stairs to the guest room.

Once in bed with the lights out, the sleep that had come so easily on the couch eluded him. His mind replayed the events of the day. Particularly the disquieting visit to the cemetery, late in the afternoon.

Mike had insisted on it, after they'd left the hospital and Sheila, the empress of records. No amount of sweet talking had convinced her of the mistaken death certificate and that the subject of the required file stood right before her. "I'm sorry gentlemen, I can't let you see it without a court order." Was her final decree."

"Batting a thousand today, Steve." Was Mike's only response as they walked to the car.

They'd swung past Bryant Street to pick up the arrest records Norm had gathered. Steve left a message for Gerry O'Brien and then drove out to Colma. Steve really didn't see the point, and quite frankly, the idea of a call to his own grave made him squeamish. After checking with the office inside the wrought iron gates, they made their way using a map with an x draw on the location of the plot. "Not much of a treasure hunt," Steve commented in a feeble attempt at gallows humor.

Mike ignored him as he searched for landmarks in the ebbing light.

"Did you ever wonder why they put such big fences around cemeteries, Mike?" Steve began, "Is it to keep something out, or keep something in?"

Mike turned a quizzical look toward him as he brought the LTD to a stop at the correct row.

The cold rain of earlier in the day had dwindled to an uncomfortable wind-driven mist, which clung uncomfortably to the detectives as they walked to the open grave. Arriving at the plot first, Steve gaped at the neat rectangular hole in front of a substantial white marble marker. He shivered as the mist collected in the inscription and then trailed like tears on the face of the stone.

 **STEPHEN J. KELLER**

 **1944-1974**

" **There is no crueler tyranny**

 **than that which is perpetuated under the shield of law**

 **and in the name of justice."**

Mike caught up and stopped next to his silent partner. He read the inscription aloud, "Interesting sentiment, do you recognize the quote?"

"I'd have to check, but I think it's Montesquieu." Steve said.

"Montesquieu?"

"French political philosopher, his writing influenced the US Constitution and the idea of checks and balances in government, you know executive, legislative and judicial branches. His book _The Spirit of Law_ was really important."

"College boys," Mike smiled wryly and shook his head. "So not only are we looking for somebody with money, we are looking for someone that is pretty well educated."

Steve couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice as he agreed with Mike's assessment, "Um, Yeah, I don't think your average street thug is quoting 18th century French philosophers."

Mike was about to reward Steve with a well-placed swat when he noticed something nestled against the base of the headstone. He pointed it out just as Steve walked to the side of the open grave and crouched down to retrieve the small object.

It was a collection of small spikey branches tied with a red ribbon. A pungent smell wafted from the plant as Steve handed to Mike.

"Rosemary for remembrance," Mike said absentmindedly.

"What?"

"Rosemary for remembrance, the plant is rosemary, it's something Helen used to say."

"Helen was a very smart lady Mike."

"I like to think so, but why do you say that?"

"It's a line from _Hamlet_. What do you think I'm supposed to remember, Mike?"

"I have no idea, but I think we need to find out."

00000

The smell of coffee roused Mike from a troubled sleep. 5:30 am. The first grey traces of dawn were crawling over the windowsill. He got up and pulled on a bathrobe and slippers. Before he trudged down the steps, he peeked in the open door of the guestroom. The bed had the twisted-sheet appearance of a very restless night. He was surprised at the absence of his partner when he went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.

Carrying the mug into the living room, Mike peered out the window to find Steve sitting on the front step, staring out into the distance. He quietly opened the door. The rain and mist had finally stopped, leaving San Francisco crisp and clear. He wished he could say the same for his own sleep deprived thinking.

"Couldn't sleep?" Mike's words roused his young partner from his stupor.

"No."

"We will figure this out, you know."

Steve didn't respond, but continued to stare toward the horizon, which was now draped with swath of pink. Mike sat down next to his young partner and drank his coffee in silence.

"I have been thinking about this all night, Mike and you know what? I don't have a clue. We went through all those records and nothing. I can't think of anybody who is rich enough, smart enough and angry enough to pull this off. I mean if they were mad enough to do all this, why not just, I don't know, shoot me?"

"Too easy. Seems like whoever this is likes to play with his food before he eats." Mike said draining his cup.

Steve smiled at the allusion, picked up his mug and took a deep drink, grimacing.

"Cold?"

"Yup," Steve said as he dumped the remainder of the offending liquid into the garden and stood up stretching his tired limbs.

Mike put down his cup and rubbed his hands together in a familiar gesture, "No time like the present buddy boy!" He said enthusiastically. "Since we are up with the early birds this morning, let's see if we can dig up this worm."

Steve groaned and followed Mike into the house.

00000

After a hot shower, Steve dressed unhappily in the same clothes he had worn the previous day, the only bright spot: his shoe were now completely dry. After a quick breakfast he and Mike made their way to Bryant Street. Unsurprisingly, the bull pen was quiet at 7 am on a Saturday Morning. Steve dumped the files on his empty desk and sat heavily in his chair, suddenly feeling the effect of a sleepless night. He considered another cup of coffee, but he was already buzzed from too much caffeine.

Mike hung up his coat and hat and grabbed several pink message slips from his desk. He looked at his watch and decided it was too early to start returning calls on a Saturday morning.

The door opened and Bernie walked in, glancing at the nearly empty bull pen.

"Gee, did death take a holiday today?" he said cheerfully to Steve, who looked at the ceiling and shook his head.

"Please tell me you got something for us on the John Doe from the funeral home, Bernie." Steve said tiredly.

Bernie continued towards Mike's office. "I don't know Mike," he said in a loud voice, tilting his head back toward Steve, "My clients usually have a little more patience."

Steve followed Bernie into Mike's office.

"Well, your John Doe had a rough life for sure, gentlemen. We fingerprinted him and took dental x-rays, but I don't think that will be much help. From the looks of it, he hadn't sat in a dentist's chair in a very long time. By his physical condition, I say he's been living on the street for a good portion of his life. He looked 60, but the exam says he's closer to 40-45."

"Cause of death?" Steve and Mike asked at the same time.

"That's may be little more helpful. I'll have to wait for the labs, but I'm thinking poison. Also, there was evidence of a recent IV. You said the body went to the funeral home from the hospital. My guess would be, he was poisoned and someone dumped him at the hospital, where he was treated but expired."

"Without the lab work, what makes you think poison?" Steve asked, impatiently.

"Other than my years of experiences?"

Steve sighed, "Come on Bernie."

"He had a peculiar odor when he came in. Bitter Almonds, only one in four people actually can smell and ID it, but fortunately for you two gentlemen, I am 1 in 4.. I'm pretty sure it was cyanide."

Mike looked at Steve, "Did you smell anything at the Funeral home?"

"No, but I was kind of holding my breath."

"Ok Bernie, where can you get cyanide?"

"Well, there are a bunch of different types, some are naturally occurring like apricot and peach pits. Cigarettes have a small amount. If you read spy novels, they all had their potassium cyanide suicide pills. But most likely he was exposed to the gaseous form, hydrogen cyanide. It was used by the Germans in WWII and mostly now it's used by commercial exterminators."

Mike let out a low whistle, at least they now had a place to start. Maybe whoever it was had finally made a mistake, hoping the body would be buried before anyone could check. Bernie continued on with his report and it was nearly 9 when he left Mike's office.

Steve's head hurt. "So let me get this straight Mike. We are looking for a rich exterminator or ex-Nazi, who is also a Shakespearean Actor and has a degree in political science. Maybe a lawyer or accountant as well, since he knew how much the filing of a death certificate would mess up my life. Oh, and don't let me forget, he follows us closely enough to know we were at the ER last night. Did I get it all?" Steve said with a huff as he ran his hand through his hair.

"You missed chef or gardener, Steve. The rosemary." Mike answered tersely.

"Oh right, Mike. Who is this guy?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: I apologize for the long delay. Here is a quicky to move the story along. My ADHD muse went on walk about and wrote 4 other stories. I gave her a stern talking to and she promises to finish this before she gets (oh look, a squirrel) distracted again. LOL**_

Norm crinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the alley. He had told Mike he would help out, but questioning winos in the back alleys of the Tenderloin was not his idea of a good time. Armed with autopsy photos of the man from Steve's coffin, he had already spoken to 20 men in various states of inebriation without luck. He had a few more streets to cover before he met up with Bill Tanner who was performing the same function, except he was on the only slightly less revolting soup kitchen beat.

Steve was unhappy. Mike had strapped him to a desk. Mike was worried and Steve, knowing better than to cross his partner's legendary gut feeling, had acquiesced without a fight. He then spent the balance of the morning in the company of the yellow pages, contacting every exterminator within a 20 mile radius of San Francisco that used cyanide and had fumigated a building in the last few days. The list he was compiling already covered 2 sheets of the tablet on his desk and threatened to ramble past a third. Unless Norm or Bill turned up something to narrow the radius of his search, this was probably a gigantic waste of time.

Just after 1 pm, Gerry O'Brien entered the bullpen. Steve was startled by his presence on a Saturday afternoon and by his clothes, He was pretty sure that Gerry was either on his way to or just returned from the golf course.

Mike came out of the office and offered the assistant DA cup of coffee.

"Gerry," Steve began, "To what do we owe this pleasure? We're are a long way from the 18th tee."

"You tell me." he replied. "First I hear you're dead, and then I get a message saying you need legal help. Well you're obviously breathing, so what's the deal?"

Steve tersely related the whole sorry tale, with Mike adding colorful details including the reluctance of Sheila, the queen of the hospital record room's, to hand over Steve's medical files.

"So Gerry, what do I need to do to return to the land of the living?" Steve asked.

Gerry thought it over for a few minutes. "Well, as interesting as this is, it's a little out of my area of expertise. I might be able to hook you up with someone I went to college with who handles wills and estate planning. Do you have any idea who hates you enough to set this up? I have to tell you, this is one hell of an original form of revenge."

Mike motioned over to the stack of files on the corner of his desk. "We worked on those till late last night but nothing jumped out."

"Sorry I can't be of more help, but I might be able to grease the skids with Judge Burroughs so you can get the court order for your medical records, although I'd hate to lose to him on purpose this afternoon."

"He's part of your foursome?" Mike asked.

"Yep, and he's a lousy golfer, but for the dearly departed over there," he motioned in Steve's direction, "I might just take one for the team."

"That would be great Gerry, I owe you one." Steve said enthusiastically, standing up and shaking the assistant DA's hand. "One more question, Um, How much is this legal magic gonna cost me?

"I'll see what I can work out with my buddy on that, least I can do for a fallen colleague," He said slapping Steve on the back. "I'll call you later with the contact information for James Mallory. He won't be able to do anything until Monday, but he should be able to get this mess straightened out. Meantime, just because Elvis has left the building, doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful. I have a feeling this isn't over yet."

Mike looked at Steve in an _I told you so way_ , feeling justified in his caution when assigning duties that morning. Steve left Mike's office and glumly walked back to his desk. With Gerry throwing up the caution flag as well as Mike, he would never get back on the street with this case.

Mike shuffled through his messages. Now midafternoon, he figured it was time to return phone calls. He had a reply from Vital Statistics, but that would have to wait until start of business on Monday. Next on the list was George Anders. Curious as to what the funeral director wanted, he dialed the number and waited patiently for an answer.

"Halsted's. How may I help you?" was the reply from a pleasant female voice.

"This Lt. Stone, SFPD. Is Mr. Anders in?"

"Just a minute Lieutenant," The voice answered.

"Yes, Lieutenant Stone, how can I help you?" Anders answered in his breathless voice.

"Ah Mr. Anders, I'm returning your call."

"Oh, right, right." Mike could hear papers shuffling in the background. He looked out at Steve, who had returned to his tedious trace of exterminators.

"Lieutenant Stone. I was just wondering if we were going to have the body returned so we can proceed with the burial."

This answer stopped Mike in his tracks. He hadn't even considered that possibility because of the mistaken identity of the corpse, but he had an idea. Mike snapped his fingers until he got Steve's attention and motioned him into the office.

"Well, no Mr. Anders. Until we identify the deceased the body will remain in our morgue, but let me run something by you...

00000

"GO AHEAD WITH MY FUNERAL?" Steve said incredulously. "I thought we were trying to prove I'm NOT dead, not propagate the misconception."

Mike was about to reply when the phone rang.

"Stone, Homicide" Mike barked.

"Mike, it's Norm. I think we might have an ID for you."

That was music to Steve's ears.

 **A/N: I've come home to the fandom that I love, where people are kind, generous and constructive with their comments. My recent foray in another fandom was for the most part greeted with respect, but I was also told A: I was shamelessly pandering for reviews, capitalizing on the death of a beloved star B: that what I wrote was shallow, had no feeling or dignity and could have been written in 30 seconds. And my personal favorite C: My dog could write a better story. This is only a sample of the vitriol that was slung my way. Cheese and Rice people, don't get your knickers in a twist, we are here to express ourselves, not condemn one another. These comments were all left by "guests." who were willing to dish it out, but…**

 **Never straying again. Love my SOSF Family!**

 **I'll get off my soap box now.**


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: A wink to Sylvia for the opening line!**_

"It's doesn't make any sense Mike. Whoever did this knows I'm not dead. What's the point of going through with the funeral?" Steve took a bite of his sandwich. The two detectives sat in a booth at Mike's favorite diner eating a late lunch. Norm and Bill were meeting them there to share information on the faux Steve.

"I just have a feeling this character, whoever he or _she_ is, won't be able to resist showing up." Mike took a sip of his coffee. "After all the planning and waiting, they'll want to see the proof of the mayhem they caused."

"Which means I need to be there, too," Steve responded, thinking of how bizarre it would be to attend his own funeral.

"Exactly, buddy boy. I think they will be expecting it and I want you to have eyes on all the mourners," Mike paused knowing the reaction his next comment would incite, "but I think a disguise is in order."

"Aw, Mike, you know how I hate playing dress up."

"Somebody say dress up?" Norm chimed in as he dropped into the booth next to Mike. Bill slid in next to Steve.

Steve groaned inwardly at the detectives' ill-timed arrival. Anxious to change the subject, he pressed Norm for information, "What can you tell us about our mystery man?"

"Terry Mumau, age 42. He's been a regular in the Tenderloin for the past five year or so, in and out of the drunk tank. He did a stretch on the Rock in the late 50's early 60's, was transferred back to Leavenworth when they closed the prison in '63 and got out in '67. I'm waiting on his package from the feds for the rest of his story. They're sending prints so Bernie can make a positive ID."

The mention of Alcatraz brought raised eyebrows from both Mike and Steve. Only a special kind of felon got sent to the Rock. Maybe there was more to their victim then they first thought. It also gave them another avenue to investigate.

Steve and Mike had been involved in the discovery of Charles Anglin, one of the infamous 1962 Alcatraz escapees* a few years back at a high school in the city. They hadn't pulled the file because the man in question was dead, but now it was certainly something worth looking into. Steve made a mental note to grab the case file. Even without this new wrinkle, now they had an id and an idea of the victim's stomping grounds. They could narrow the focus of their exterminator search to the Tenderloin area of the city.

The men ceased their discussion when the waitress came over to the table to refill Steve and Mike's coffee and get the orders from the two new arrivals.

"Who made the ID, Norm?"

"Couple of stellar citizens who make their homes in the alley behind Geary Street." Norm wrinkled his nose, "By the way, thanks for that little job, Mike. Seems he was flashing around a lot of bread the past week or so and then poof, no Terry. They figured someone rolled him for the cash."

Mike looked at Steve, "Name seem familiar at all to you?"

"Nope." Steve replied, "Doesn't mean a thing, but he was on the Rock the same time as the Anglin Brothers. We'll definitely have to check that out."

Mike nodded his head in agreement as Norm piped up, "So what's this about dress up, Mike?" Norm asked with a wide grin, "You sending our boy undercover?"

Steve cringed and looked pleadingly at Mike. He did not like where this conversation was heading. Nothing would make Norm happier than the chance to craft an embarrassing disguise for Steve.

"Hey Norm, leave the kid alone. He's had a deadly few days, although," he said with a pat to Steve's arm, "maybe this is a path to his rebirth!" Bill said with hearty laugh.

"I'm surrounded by a bunch of comedians," Steve moaned as he attacked the remains of his lunch."

00000

There was a message on Steve's desk when they got back to the office. The name and address of the lawyer Gerry suggested was neatly written on a small scrap of note paper. Knowing it was a long shot, he dialed the phone. A pleasant female voice informed him that he had reached Mr. Mallory's answering service and that he would return the call on Monday.

He picked up the tablet with the exterminator information and started crossing off names. The list rapidly reduced to a more manageable number. He picked up the tablet and ambled into Mike's office. Mike looked up from the report on Steve's adventure at Mission High.

"I've got it down to 2 exterminators and 6 buildings, Mike," Steve said as he placed the tablet on the desk. Mike looked at his watch. It was going on 4 pm.

"I think it'll have to wait until Monday, buddy boy. No chance we are getting anybody on the phone to find out who owns the buildings and paid for the contracts on a Saturday night." Mike paused a minute considering another option, "Do we have the addresses of the buildings that were treated?"

"Yeah, maybe we can check them out tonight. If we split them up, we'll be done quicker." Steve said hopeful of getting out from under Mike's vigilant watch.

Mike hesitated. He still was a little worried about Steve's safety, but he also wanted the buildings checked before too much time past, hoping to find evidence of the primary crime scene.

"OK, but I want you checking in between every building, you hear me hot shot?" Mike got up and grabbed his coat and fedora. Steve tore the paper in half and gave part to his partner, resisting the urge to reply to Mike's over the top concern with a snarky remark.

"Meet me back at DeHaro Street when you're done, we still need to work on your disguise for the visitation tomorrow." Mike added as they headed for the garage. Steve rolled his eyes at the mention of the viewing.

00000

Mike made quick work of the addresses on his list. All were questionable, but legitimate, businesses that were locked up tight on an early Saturday evening. He was just getting into the car when he heard Steve radio in at his third stop. Still uneasy about the situation, Mike started the LTD and headed to Steve's location, 7909 Willow Street.

He pulled up behind the light green Galaxy that Steve had checked out from the motor pool. The building, which appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, was a definite possibility. Seeing no sign of Steve, he grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and headed for the entry. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and switched on the flashlight, sweeping the beam left and right over empty shelving and assorted debris.

Mike took a few steps into the building and the door swung shut behind him, leaving him slightly startled and totally dependent on the narrow beam of illumination cast by the flashlight. He heard a light scritching noise off to his left. Apparently, the recent fumigation hadn't done much to deter the local rodents. Not wanting to make their acquaintance, he walked to his right, calling out to Steve, but he got no response. Unsettled by the lack of reply, Mike picked up his pace. His light caught on what looked like make shift bedding to his left. Evidently, the rats weren't the only tenants.

He followed along until he reached the right-hand wall and continued in a direction toward the back of the building, calling out to Steve, but silence was the only reply. As Mike moved further into the cavernous area, he spotted a small office against the far wall, but no sign of his young partner. _Where the hell are you Steve?_

 _15 minutes earlier…_

Steve pulled the Galaxy up to the front of the vacant warehouse, calling his location into dispatch. The windows of the building had been boarded up at some point, but the front door still appeared functional. He walked up and was surprised to find it unlocked and slightly open. He considered calling Mike for backup before he went in, but dismissed the idea as playing into his partner's paranoia.

Oddly, he heard what sounded like music coming from the back of the building as he entered the darkened space. Clicking on his flashlight, he headed toward the sound. He shook the image of horror movie haunted houses from his thoughts as he followed the thumping baseline deeper into the large room.

The music seemed to be coming from what looked like a small office. His light did little to penetrate the gloom as he moved in the direction of the sound. He pulled up level with the door and stopped. The source of the music was definitely in the room and he could now identify Mick Jagger's gravelly voice bellowing out the chorus of "Sympathy for the Devil." Moving forward, he tumbled over an unseen obstacle stretched low across the doorway and was buried in an avalanche of crates. Steve lost his grip on his flashlight, which extinguished with a resounding thump as it hit the ground. He heard a mirthless laugh as the darkness swallowed him.

*For the rest of this story see "Hall Duty" on FF.


	8. Chapter 8

Norm and Bill headed back to Bryant Street after lunch with Mike and Steve. It was already late afternoon on Saturday and they wanted to knock off for the evening. Norm dropped Bill off at his car in the lot. Before he headed back to his apartment, he had one more mission to attend to upstairs. He took the elevator to evidence lockup.

"Evening Norm, what brings you out on a Saturday night?"

"Same old, same old, Stan. A crime fighter's work is never done." He sniffed his suit coat and decided a shower and a change of attire was in order before his date with sweet Camille. He was cutting it close, but he knew he was on to something that was going to drive Steve crazy, and he couldn't help himself.

"Say Stan, is the box on Jerry Shilling* still around or has it been moved into deep storage? I'd like to check it out."

Stan shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know Norm, but I'll give a look see. Only take me a minute. Related to a new case?"

"Ah, you could say that. Appreciate the help."

Norm smiled to himself when Stan trotted off. Despite the strange and serious nature of the case with Steve, he knew his idea was golden. He was humming the tune "Dominique" from a movie he'd been dragged to on a date when Stan came back to the window, hauling a banker's style cardboard box.

"You're lucky Norm. This was due to get shipped out next week. You don't need the rifle do you? 'Cause that's in the weapons' locker."

Norm opened the box and was delighted to see the objective of his mission was nestled comfortably in the box. "Nope, this will do just fine," he said with a wide smile, signing out the evidence.

00000

Mike swept the area with the beam of his flashlight as he walked toward the small office area, repeating the call to his missing partner. As he got closer, he was relieved to hear several distinctive thumps and bumps plus what was unmistakably some muffled off colored language and a very low "Mike?"

When he reached the door, he found it blocked by a landslide of ruptured packing crates, with two familiar looking feet protruding from the base. From the percolating movement of the boxes, he knew Steve was alive and alert, but buried in a mountainous mess. Mike set his light aside and began to pull the crates out of the opening. The boxes were light, seemingly filled with nothing more than packing material, but something viscous oozed from within. As Mike removed more and more of the blockage, Steve began to kick the remaining crates off to the side.

"Why the heck didn't you answer when I called Steve?" Mike asked with exasperation as he picked up the flashlight, and tried to get a better look at him. He made an attempt to clear some of the gloppy combination of straw and what looked and smelled like motor oil off of Steve, who was now seated in the doorway.

"I tried Mike, really I tried," He said defensively. "But every time I opened my mouth, it got filled with this goop." Steve punctuated the word goop by spitting out a wad of the offending substance.

Mike continued to brush Steve off until his now stewing partner batted his hand away.

"Would you stop it Mike, and just help me up?" Steve asked, extending his arm.

"You sure you're ok?"

Steve shook his head as Mike grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet.

"What happened?" Mike asked as Steve continued to shake off the coating of slop.

"The door was open when I got here, so I decide to have a look around. I heard what I thought was music from back here, but when I got to the door, I don't know, it was like some kind of trip wire or something. I fell and dropped my flashlight and the whole mess came tumbling down on top of me."

"You sure you're ok?" Mike repeated, handing Steve his handkerchief.

"Yes, mom," he replied as he wiped the area around his eyes clean.

Mike and Steve entered the office by the small beam of Mike's flash light. Steve spotted a light switch on the wall,

"Well, what do you know?" he said as he tried the switch with his handkerchief covered hand and light blossomed in the small space.

Steve heard a low whistle as he turned to see what had garnered the reaction from Mike.

"I think we better get the lab boys out here," Mike said shaking his head.

00000

Steve and Mike leaned against the Galaxy talking in low voices while Charlie and the lab boys processed the warehouse. Steve scratched at the stitches binding the cut on his hand, which were now coated with a fine sheen of motor oil. Other than a few small cuts and some bruises, Steve was in remarkably good physical shape after his encounter with what Charlie had declared a finely crafted booby trap. Emotionally, it was a whole different story.

"We might need to go get that cleaned out," Mike suggested quietly.

Steve shook his head side to side emphatically. "No, what I need is a shower, some clean clothes and about 10 hours sleep." He ran his hands through his oil slicked hair, continuing to shed slime-soaked shreds of straw. "But as it seems that I'm getting none of those things anytime soon, I would just like to know what the hell is going on!"

Mike felt bad for his young friend. His life had been turned upside down in the past two days, and they were really no closer to finding out who was behind it than when they first read the obituary. He was desperate to find some way to dispel the frustration that was gripping the both of them.

"Slime-soaked shreds of straw," Mike said with chuckle.

"What?"

"Slime-soaked shreds of straw. You're shedding slime-soaked shreds of straw." Mike laughed again, "Try saying that three times fast!"

Steve looked at Mike like he was losing his mind. "Shedding slime-soaked shreds of straw, shedding slime-soaked shreds of straw, shedding slime-soaked shreds of straw," he said in rapid succession, stumbling over the last repetition. He snorted with laughter when he finished.

Both men dissolved into fits of giggles, which increased in intensity every time they looked at each other.

After a few minutes, Mike finally regained his composure. "Come on buddy-boy," Mike said with a smile as he lightly slapped Steve on the back, let's see what old Charlie can tell us.

00000

The mood in the warehouse was significantly more serious and businesslike. Now illuminated, the vast area could be assessed properly. Filled mostly with trash, a section off to the left was definitely outfitted as a small living area. The lab boys were just finishing bagging and tagging the belongings when Charlie motioned to Steve and Mike to join him in the small office.

Steve avoided looking at the left hand wall, and focused instead on the intense lab tech.

"Well," Charlie started, "I don't know who rigged this up, but he's a pro. The front door was wired. When you came in Steve, it activated the 8-track player, cuing up the Rolling Stones. That was the lure to get you back to the office. You were right about the trip wire on the door, it was perfectly executed. It cued the second recorder as well as the avalanche. Just be glad it was tied to a bunch of crates instead of a grenade or some other kind of explosive."

Steve swallowed hard.

"The set up was that good?" Mike asked the tech.

"I'd say. Military quality, if you ask me. We've pulled all the components, you might be able to track the suppliers, but it's pretty common stuff. We'll check for prints on all of it of course. We'll also dust the, um, display pieces over there," he motioned toward the wall, "after we get some photos. You also might be able to track the sprays to a local florist."

Both Mike and Steve looked at the wall which held an over-sized portrait of Steve surrounded by a dozen funerary floral arrangement.

00000

Mike followed Steve over to Bryant Street to drop off the Galaxy. It was well past 9 pm by the time they returned to Mike's house. Steve was pouting over Mike's refusal to "break" into his apartment to retrieve some of his own clothes.

They wearily climbed the stairs, only to find a package laying on the top step. Mike picked up the parcel and unlocked the door. Steve recognized Norm's writing on the label and looked at Mike with dread.

Mike opened the flap and looked inside. "Oh, I think this just might do perfectly," he said with a glint in his eye.

*Wacko assassin Steve killed in the church tower in S3 episode 3 "Target Red"

 **A/N: IF you know the song or remember the episode, you already know what Steve's disguise might be!**


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Sorry I haven't thanked everybody personally, but time is in short supply for me right now and I hope you agree that it's better to get new chapters to read than getting a personal thank you!**_

 _ **The assault on everything Steve holds dear, including his dignity, continues…**_

Mike handed Steve a trash bag after he laid the package from Norm on the kitchen table.

"What's this for?"

"It's for the suit, I think it has, if you pardon the expression, _bought the farm."_

Steve let out a huff and started to protest, but then upon further inspection decided Mike was correct.

"And if you don't mind me saying, you need a shower, pal, you smell like a garage floor."

Steve couldn't disagree with that, but before he changed, he had an idea. It occurred to him that he had left his car behind Mike's house yesterday, before the discovery of his obit in the paper. With all the craziness that followed, he had quite forgotten it was there.

He headed for the back of the kitchen and pulled a set of keys off a hook to the right of the door.

Mike looked at him quizzically, "Where are you headed?"

Steve looked back towards Mike. "My car Mike, I left it out back yesterday. I'm hoping my gym bag is in there and I may (he seriously hoped) or may not have some dry cleaning in the back seat."

"Why didn't you think of that yesterday, hotshot?"

"Oh, I don't know, possibly I had something on my mind." He replied sarcastically. _Like my own mortality and my crumbling lifestyle._ He kept that last part to himself. Steve turned and made for the door.

Mike heard the back door slam as he peered into the fridge, looking for sandwich fixings. He was just pulling out some ham when he heard the door slam again, accompanied by language that would make a sailor blush.

"THAT'S IT, MIKE! THEY HAVE OFFICIALLY TAKEN EVERYTHING I HAVE. SON OF A B..." Steve yelled as he pounded on the counter.

"Slow down and settle down. What going on?" Mike barked loudly enough to be heard over Steve's ranting.

"MY CAR MIKE! IT'S GONE. THEY TOOK MY CAR!"

After all the weird things that had happened in the past two days, the loss of his beloved Porsche was more than he could handle. Since Steve at this point was beyond reason, Mike immediately went into cop mode.

"Ok, Ok buddy boy. First off, what did that counter ever do to you?"

Steve startled at the odd questions, just as he was about to strike the hapless counter another blow. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he ran his hand through his oil soaked hair and looked sheepishly at Mike. "This has got to end Mike, what am I going to do?" Steve said in a plaintive whisper.

"First thing," Mike started "We are NOT going to give up or lose our heads."

Steve winced a little at the gentle rebuke.

"Second, you're going to take a shower, while I call it in."

"And third?" Steve asked, hoping Mike had an answer to this situation. He didn't.

00000

Steve was once again clad in Mike's oversized grey sweats. He angrily shoved up a troublesome sleeve, trying to keep it dry as he washed up after a dinner of cold sandwiches and coffee. There was a knock at the front door. He heard Mike open the door and spied around the corner. Mike was speaking to a very young uniformed officer that he did not recognize. Drying his hands, and pushing up the aggravating sleeve one more time, he entered the living room.

"We just finished canvassing the neighborhood, Mr. Stone. Your neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, was walking his dog about noon and saw a tow truck around back. He knew the car was Mr. Keller's, so he asked the guy what was going on. The driver told him that Steve had called to have the car towed in for repairs, even showed him an invoice, so he thought it was legit."

The young officer looked over at Steve in his too big sweats and in a patronizing voice asked "You didn't make an appointment to have it picked up and forget about it, did you, Mr. Keller?"

Evidently, the officer had no idea who he was talking to. Mike could see Steve flushing, ready to explode at the uniformed officer, so he spoke up.

"Um, that's Inspector Keller, and I'm Lt. Stone," Mike said displaying his credentials, "and that would be a no, it was not called in to be towed, it's been stolen. Did Mr. Jenkins happen to remember the name on the wrecker?" Mike could feel the anger emanating from his young partner and carefully kept himself in between Steve and the uniformed officer.

The young officer blanched. Though he didn't recognize the man standing in front of him, even rookies knew about "Iron" Mike Stone. "Um, uh, sorry sir," he took a moment to compose himself and looked at his note book, "Nope, he didn't remember. Hey, wait a minute, Keller, yeah, Inspector Keller, aren't you dead?"

Steve put his hand on Mike's back, and calmly sidestepped his partner. Mike tried to stop him, but Steve nodded his head and put his palm up to Mike as if to say, _it's ok,_ _I've got this one._

"Officer…" Steve looked at the young man's name tag, "Officer Riley. How long you been on the force?"

Steve's voice was now calm, controlled and very quiet. _Oh, brother_ , Mike thought as he held his breath.

"The young man looked into Steve's eyes and swallowed hard, "4 months, sir" he squeaked out.

"Do you know who Samuel Clemens is?"

The young officer shook his head, unsure of where this was going.

"You might know him by his nom de plume, Mark Twain."

"Like _Tom Sawyer?"_

"Good, good" Steve replied. Mike was now standing beside him.

"Easy, Steve," Mike admonished.

Steve held up his hand again.

"Well, Officer Riley, it seems that at one point in his life he was hospitalized and certain newspapers, including our own _San Francisco Chronicle_ printed that he was dead, when in fact he was very much alive.

"Really?" the officer replied, still unsure of what was going on.

"Yep. And you know what he said when he found out about the stories."

"No"

"He said, 'The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.' "

Officer Riley stared blankly at Steve.

"You know, you probably shouldn't believe everything you hear, or read, my young friend. I suggest you get back in your cruiser, get on the radio and request a robbery unit get out here. As you can _see,_ I am very much alive and I really, really want my car back."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh and one more thing, If you EVER, EVER use that patronizing tone with me or ANY other victim of a crime, you will be walking a beat with the meter maids for the rest of your career."

"YES, SIR!"

Mike had to hold back a laugh at the reaction of the gullible rookie, knowing full well that Steve had no power to enforce his threat. The officer turned on his heels and left as quickly as humanly possible.

Mike chuckled and turned to grin at Steve.

"Oh, shut up, Mike!" Steve said as he headed back to the kitchen.

00000

Steve already had the Anglin file out and two fresh cups of coffee on the table when Mike entered the kitchen. It was pushing 11 pm but it didn't look like sleep was an option for his partner and friend. The package from Norm was pushed to the side, forgotten for the time being. Mike looked at the way Steve gripped the file and then glanced at package. He decided that the little surprise could wait until Steve was a lot calmer.

Steve took out his notebook and split the file in half. Both men read quietly and sipped coffee, Steve periodically scratching down a few notes. Finally, he looked up and Mike was staring at him.

"What?"

"You sure you're ok? This has got to be really wearing on you."

"I'm fine, Mike."

Mike knew Steve wasn't fine. The dark circles under his eyes, the slack shoulder posture and the way he lit into the rookie cop told him all he needed to know about his partner's state of mind. But he chose to take Steve at his word.

"Ok, what do you got?"

"Well we know Clarence Anglin is dead. Don't know if he had any offspring. Do we know where his sister Bri wound up?" Bri Molen was Clarence Anglin's sister and accomplice in the Mission High murder of Mona Holtzbaur. She'd used her position as school secretary in an attempt to derail the investigation and protect her brother's identity. Her involvement, over and above her complicity in the murder, went as far as imprisoning Steve and pulling a gun on Mike. They were both sure she was out of the picture, but her current whereabouts would need to be checked.

"We'll have to figure out where she is presently. What about the brother, John, wasn't it?" Mike asked.

"We called the Vegas police, but they never were able to track him down. Say Mike, the number the funeral home gave me for my mystery sister was a Vegas exchange, you don't think…"

"I think it's worth checking out. We also need to find out if Mumau had any contact with the Anglin brothers when they shared a home on the Rock. Hopefully his packet from the feds will arrive sooner, rather than later, and we can get some more info on him."

"All of this is so hard to track on the weekend," Steve mused, "Maybe on Monday we can finally get some answers."

"And maybe on Monday we can finally make some progress on getting your life back." Mike added knowing that the wheels of bureaucracy rolled a little more freely during the work week.

"You got anything on the Walen side of the equation?" Steve prompted. High School students Marc Walen and Mitchell Ballinger had originally been suspected in the Holtzbaur murder, but were found to be small level drug dealers at Mission High.

"Both of the boys got probation on the drug charges in exchange for their testimony. I have no idea what happened to them after that. Marc's father, Alexander Walen lll wound up doing 18 months at Danbury Minimum Security for bribery."

"Do you think it's worth even pursuing the Walen connection?" Steve asked, feeling that perhaps it was a waste of time.

"Steve, Walen is out and certainly has financial resources. You have to admit, whoever put this together has to have had plenty of cash to pull it off."

Steve considered that for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. It was going on one am. "I guess you're right Mike."

Mike got up and put the coffee cups in the sink. "Enough," he said stretching his tired shoulders. "The rest of this can wait till the morning."

Steve gathered up the papers and his notes and shoved them in the folder. He was about to get up when he noticed the package from Norm.

"Say, Mike what is in the parcel?"

Mike figured it was now or never, "Um," he hesitated. "Norm had an excellent idea for your, um, disguise for the viewing tomorrow and before you dismiss it…"

Steve got a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach and frowned at Mike.

"Like I said, before you dismiss it, I want you to remember that we were BOTH fooled by this one a little while back."

Mike slipped the predominantly black fabric out of the package, and spread it out on the table.

Steve took one look at it and gaped in horror at his partner, "I don't think so Mike!"


	10. Chapter 10

For the second night in a row, Steve laid awake staring at the ceiling. It was already past two and he was tired, over tired, but unable to quiet his mind.

The very loud, very animated debate he had with Mike hadn't helped. He could not believe that Mike would go along with Norm on this one. Granted, no one would recognize him in that outfit and he could observe all the comings and goings at the visitation, but there had to be a better way.

Surprisingly, he managed to get one concession. Mike had agreed to call on his old friend Sister Frances at the Benedictine Monastery in the morning to check out Steve's supposition. Maybe once Norm found out what the deal was, he would wake up and realize that this was a horrible idea. In any case, Steve had vowed that the only way he was going through with this plan was to share the humiliation with the person who thought it up.

He mulled over the events of the past two days. It was hard to believe that someone would go to such lengths to get even with him. He'd arrested plenty of people and sent lots to jail, but they all were guilty, Steve was sure of it. He hadn't taken anything away from anybody, their problems were of their own making. His only culpability was ensuring that the guilty took ownership of the choices they made, or so he hoped. Monday couldn't come soon enough for Steve. As much as he hated research and paperwork, he was anxious to dive into the records that could only be accessed during the work week. That's where the answers would be.

Steve considered the quote from Montesquieu on the tombstone. Somebody evidently believed that he had enforced the law unjustly. The presence of the rosemary told him they wanted him to remember something, but what? Maybe Mike was right, someone would show up at his wake and the answer to this puzzle would present itself. Steve was hopeful it would happen just like that, but he was doubtful that it would be so simple. The good news, he thought as he finally drifted into a fitful slumber, was that there was nothing left for this mystery person to take from him.

00000

Steve awoke with a start. He was dreaming about being smothered by a long black cloth and when he opened his eyes, he was wrestling with a twisted sheet. The morning sun spilled through the open blinds and by its position, it was well past 8 am. He freed himself from the linens, climbed out of bed and stumbled down the steps to the kitchen in search of coffee. Mike wasn't there. On the table was the paper, a box of cereal and a note. Steve was just about to read the note when the phone rang.

"You just rolling out of bed sleepy head?" the voice on the other end admonished.

"Morning, Mike." Steve answered with a yawn, "You up with the birds again?"

Mike laughed at the comment and continued on, "You, my young friend should count your lucky stars that I am. I managed to meet with Sr. Frances, and guess what buddy boy?"

"Mike, it's way too early for guessing games on a Sunday morning." Steve responded flatly.''

"Well, I don't know how you knew it, but you were right, they always travel in pairs when possible. When Sr. Frances heard what was going on, she gladly fixed us up with what we needed. I think she thought the whole scheme was rather amusing, but it's so hard to tell with the sister."

Steve smiled. _Touche, Norm_ , he thought to himself. "You want me to call Norm or do you want to share the good news?"

"Oh no, buddy boy. It's your idea, you can tell him. Just make sure he's over at my house by noon to get ready. I'll run by the office and make sure the rest of the details are in place."

Steve hung up the phone and looked at the clock. He knew it was too early to call Norm, so he made coffee and had some breakfast while he read the paper. When the hour hand had finally crept past 10 am he went back to the telephone and dialed Norm's number. After about 8 rings, the sleepy sounding Armenian detective answered the phone.

"This better be good!" Norm bellowed into the phone. Steve heard a distinctly female voice in the background.

"And a very good morning to you Detective Haseejian. Did I interrupt something?" Steve asked in a syrupy voice."

"What do you want Keller?"

"Don't blame me Norm," Steve said. _Although you might want to do that later_ , he thought. "Mike told me to call you. He wants you at his place by noon to prepare for my, uh, _send off_." Steve hear the muffled cooing of female voice again and Norm shushing it. _Jeez, is this what it sounds like when Mike calls me unexpectedly_? He made a mental note to move the phone out of his bedroom for good.

"I thought we were meeting at Bryant Street."

"Change in plans. Just be here."

00000

Steve was getting out of the shower when he heard Mike come in the front door. Out of habit, he'd hung his outfit for the afternoon in the bathroom, letting the steam tackle some of the wrinkles in the fabric. He wrapped a towel around his waist and exited toward the guest room, just in time to meet Mike in the hall.

"Here, I thought you might need these." Mike said thrusting a bag his way, I had to guess the size.

Steve was mortified. Mike had bought him new underwear.

"Uh," he stuttered, a deep red blush crept up his neck "Um, thanks, I guess."

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I just figured after the close encounter with the motor oil, well you get the picture."

Steve grabbed the bag and slunk to the guest room. The day had already sunk to a new personal low, where could it go from here? He hoped to hell that nobody at the office ever found out about this latest humiliation.

It was about 11:00 and Steve was not quite ready to don his raiment for the afternoon, so he put the sweats back on and went down to the kitchen. Mike had changed into his "Funeral Suit."

"Gee, Mike I didn't know you cared." Steve said as he brushed a small piece of lint from Mike's black serge suit."

"Only the best for you, buddy boy. By the way, how did things go with Norm on the phone?"

"He'll be here at noon."

"Did you tell him anything?"

"He'll be here at noon."

"So, you _didn't_ say anything."

"He'll be here at noon."

"Chicken."

"And proud of it. Do you think he would have shown up if I'd told him what was going on?"

"Good point," Mike said pouring a cup of coffee.

"Who all is in place for the viewing?"

"That's the easy part. We'll have more officers than we know what to do with. Everybody in homicide will come to pay their respects, plus it really isn't general knowledge that you are still amongst the living, so we should have a significant presence from the force and the press.

Steve groaned at the thought of his funeral, even his fake funeral becoming a media circus. "The press, really Mike, we can't keep it private?"

"Sorry Steve. Funeral for a fallen police officer is always news. I have word the mayor might even turn up. Seems you were very well l liked." Mike said with a wink as he handed Steve a fresh cup of coffee. "Besides, if we have press coverage we'll have cameras and pictures. They might catch something that we miss."

Steve begrudgingly agreed with Mike. The more information they could gather, the more worthwhile this exercise would be.

On the table was the file on Terry Mumau that Mike had retrieved when he stopped at Bryant Street. Steve opened it up and began to read. "The feds coughed this up pretty quickly." Steve commented as he scanned through the document."

Mike pulled his chair over as Steve paged through the document.

"Demolition and electronics expert, Army Corps of Engineers," Steve said passing a page to Mike. Mike put on his glasses, read through the sheet and shook his head.

"That explains the warehouse." Mike replied.

"Yep, and there's more. Seems he decided to go free-lance to enhance his income in Korea. Worked for some local mid-level officials." Steve continued to read, then stopped and put down the paper and rubbed his eyes. "He blew up a school, Mike. There wasn't supposed to be anybody there, but, oh man, a kid was killed. He turned himself in after that. That's how he wound up in Leavenworth."

Mike sat quietly for a minute, "How did he end up on the Rock?"

"Says here that he kept trying to get out. Swore he was going to go back to Korea and get the guy who hired him. Only once he was at Alcatraz, he just kinda gave up on life. No wonder he wound up living on the streets."

"Anything about contact with the Anglin Brothers or Frank Morris in there?"

"Yeah, seems he was in the same block as our boys, so more than likely he knew them."

They sat for a moment, digesting the information on the file. Mike looked at his watch pointedly. He wanted to be in place by one, before anybody turned up at the funeral home, "Isn't it about time for you to make your transformation?"

"Sure," Steve said with no enthusiasm. He had been putting off getting dressed until the last minute. After dumping his cold coffee in the sink, he decided he couldn't drag his feet any longer and slowly walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He noticed a large garment bag hanging on the coat tree.

He carefully shaved and combed back his brown wavy hair, wrapping it in the white wimple before donning the black veil and tunic. As he finished dressing, he heard the front door open and close. He completed his ensemble by strapping a holster bearing his .38 to his belt behind his back, draping the scapular over top and slipping a chain holding a large crucifix over his head. _Well at least this get-up hides my gun_ , he thought as he looked in the mirror and shook his head, _the things I do for this job_. _Well it's now or never._ He slowly walked to the stairs.

"Well hello Ma'am," Norm bowed and crooned as he caught sight of Steve walking down the steps.

Steve treated Norm to a response he was sure had never come out of a Benedictine Nun's mouth.

"Not very ladylike, Sister Stephanie." Norm replied with a laugh, "Seriously kid, you look great, no one will recognize you."

"You're right Norm," Mike added handing Norm the garment bag, "Especially when she is accompanied by her fellow Benedictine, Sister Norma."

 _ **A/N: The Benedictine Order wears a black and white habit resembling the one that was used in the Episode "Target Red" There are a number a Benedictine Facilities in San Francisco. As a survivor of 12 years of Catholic School, I can say with great certainty that nuns NEVER traveled on their own during that time period if it could be helped.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the ladies in the yahoo SOSF group and the ladies of the fandom.**_

Steve donned the small wire frame glasses that Mike had handed him. They reminded him of the glasses John Lennon had been sporting of late.

"Where'd these come from, Mike?"

"I got them from the costume stash down in vice. They were only too happy to share. I figure the more we can do to hide your identity, the better this will go." Looking at Steve he continued, "I think those will do just fine."

Mike checked his watch and smiled, it was nearly 12:40, "Do you think we need to check on Sister Norma?"

Steve sat on the couch with a satisfied smile. He was replaying the look on Norm's face in his mind. He never wanted to forget that expression, somewhere between shocks and revulsion, when Norm figured out just what Steve and Mike had cooked up.

"Oh, I think she's probably doing fine." He was sure that Norm was just too embarrassed to come down stairs.

Presently, they heard the bathroom door slam. "Showtime," Steve said with a laugh, his own sartorial embarrassment momentarily forgotten.

Norm stomped down the stairs like a pouting child. The sight of him in the Benedictine Habit was indescribable. Mike hid a chortle behind his hand as Steve openly hooted in laughter.

"Can it Keller," Norm barked in Steve direction.

"Now Sister, that was not very charitable." Steve replied barely able to contain his glee.

Norm's response was an exceptionally rude gesture.

"Ladies, Ladies, mind your manners please," Mike huffed, heading for the exit. "If you two are done goofing off, we need to get a move on." He opened the door and motioned for Norm to go first, "After you, Ma'am."

Norm grumbled an obscenity under his breath and went out the door, followed by Steve. Mike locked the door and brought up the rear. When he got to the car, he opened the door with a gallant bow, earning him a glare from both Norm and Steve.

"You two characters better start acting the part, or this will be a waste of time," chastised Mike as he got behind the wheel of the LTD, quietly grinning to himself.

They arrived at Halstead's a few minutes past one and despite their instincts, Steve and Norm allowed Mike to open the door of the car and hold the front door to the funeral home. Mr. Anders met them at the entry, again in his India ink suit and tie. A shiver ran down Steve's spine at the sight of him. Despite the fact that Anders was a professional, competent man, he found the funeral director creepy. The tall mortician looked from Norm to Steve and back again. If he thought anything was amiss at their appearance, he kept it to himself.

"Lt. Stone, Ladies, welcome." Anders intoned, "I didn't realize that the inspector was a religious man."

"Oh, he was full of surprises," Mike replied. Steve rolled his eyes behind Mike's back.

"Is there somewhere inconspicuous the Sisters can sit? They will be staying, praying for the entire visitation and don't want to be in the way.

"Certainly, Lieutenant. That is not a problem. This way, if you please ladies."

Steve elbowed Norm after Anders turned to lead them to the room. Norm huffed loudly, but gave Steve a subtle thumbs up. Mike turned around and glared at the two officers, mouthing _behave yourself_ to Steve.

Anders slid open the pocket doors leading to the receiving room. The casket was to the left, in the front of the room. The elaborate closed coffin was surrounded by dozens of flower sprays, the dominant flower being red roses. A large portrait of Steve, the twin of the example from the warehouse, was to the right of the coffin.

Mike looked over at Steve, who gaped at the scene, seemingly overcome by the display. Mike took his elbow and steered Steve in the direction that Anders had gone. Norm followed them to the back of the room and sat down in one of the chairs the funeral director had slid against the far wall. The chairs were now slightly separated from the grouping that had been set up for the visitation.

Mike sat Steve down and turned to Anders. "Thank you so much, this will do just fine. The Sisters here were quite close to Steve and they're a little overwhelmed right now."

Norm put his handkerchiefed hand up over his mouth, in what Anders believed was an attempt to stifle a sob. It was only after he left the room that Norm broke out into a fit of giggles.

Mike turned around and silenced Norm with a glare. "Would you two be serious?" Steve, recovered from his initial shock, began to giggle as well; trying not to make eye contact with Mike.

As two o'clock approached, two officers in dress uniforms appeared at the door and took up positions as honor guard, on either side of the casket. Mike who had left the room earlier, came back in and stood close to the door, to receive guests. Steve looked up and shook his head at the spectacle.

The first people who arrived were Rudy Olsen and a cadre of Police Brass. Although Rudy knew Steve was still around, the thought was to make the funeral as authentic as possible. Gerry O'Brien, the assistant DA, was next. He spoke quietly to Mike and handed him a folded sheet of paper. Mike leaned over, whispered something and cocked his head in the sister's direction. Gerry raised an eyebrow and walked slowly back to Steve and Norm, as if to pay his respects. He leaned over and put his hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Nice disguise, Steve," I wouldn't have been able to pick you out of a lineup in that getup. Make sure you get pictures. Steve peered at him crossly over the top of his glasses.

"By the way, _sister_ you owe me big time." Gerry said as he straightened up, "I got the court order to release your medical records."

Steve looked up at Gerry and put his hand on Gerry's sleeve. "Bless you my son," he said solemnly.

Gerry swallowed a laugh and made a hasty path to the exit.

00000

"This now ranks as the number one weirdest thing I have ever done." Steve whispered quietly in Norm's direction after more than hour had passed. They had looked carefully at all the guests, but nothing jumped out at either officer. Both were fingering rosary beads so that their muffled conversations could be attributed to prayer. It seemed the habits and their pious posture kept people away, making them part of the scenery, all but invisible.

"Still, it's a nice showing," Norm replied, thoughtfully. Nice was an understatement. Literally hundreds of mourners had filed past the casket in a steady stream since the doors had opened at 2. Many were fellow officers and their families showing solidarity, some he recognized, others not. There had also been a continuous flow of young and not so young women; all who seemed, to Steve's distress, fairly broken up at his passing. Steve kept up a running commentary, which proved to be very entertaining to Norm.

Norm was counting the names of the woman on his beads. "Hmmmmm, in the past twenty minutes, we've seen Brigitte; Rona, she was the one who was so attentive when you were in the hospital; Kat; Jamie and Anja. Then we had Mike's daughter's friends Allie and Nancy, those were the two that kept trying to hook you up with Jeannie. Daniela; Helene and Jennifer, the one who dumped you for what's his name. We also had Elisabeth and Wendy, she's the one who you thought was looking for an older guy. Lenore, Marg, Sylvia and on and on. And that's only the one's whose names you remembered. Jeez, Keller, you should be exhausted."

Steve blushed, "Jealous, Sister Norma?"

Norm didn't have time to respond. A flutter traveled through crowd and two dark suited men entered the room in advance of the arrival Joseph Alioto, the Mayor of San Francisco. The mayor was trailed by several members of the press, who were stopped at the door by Bill Tanner.

"We're just trying to do our jobs, _sir,"_ one of the press corps addressed Bill sarcastically.

Bill, to his credit did not take the bait, although from the expression on his face it was clear he wasn't amused. "Outside, gentlemen" he said politely as he escorted them out of the room. The chief city official made his was over to Mike, spoke to him quietly, paid his respects and promptly left. At the sight of the mayor, Steve wondered what the repercussions of this ruse would be. Granted it was an election year, and the presence of the mayor was also ersatz, a political statement targeted to garner the endorsement of the FOP, but he was sure the mayor would not be amused when he found out the truth. When it came out that Steve was actually alive, there would be a lot of squawking from city hall. He was suddenly very glad that this had been Mike's idea.

Despite all of the activity, this whole affair looked like it would be a gigantic bust. It was 5 minutes to 4 and no one more suspicious that Sheila Barnes, the hospital records maven, had shown up. The crowd had dwindled to a few young women and a couple of uniformed officers. Steve was just about to give up when a tall chestnut haired woman in a black pantsuit and large dark glasses strode confidently into the room. Steve didn't recognize her, but Mr. Anders certainly did. He attempted to alert Mike, who was comforting a distraught blond named Joyce.

The brunette removed her glasses and Steve clearly saw her eyes. Anders had been right, they were exactly the green color of old dollar bills. Those eyes displayed no distress or sorrow, only a hard, confident air. The odd combination of her pale hollow eyes and deep brown hair was not unattractive. Unusual, yes but not unattractive.

So his mystery sister Lois Staas had made an appearance. She looked to be about thirty, give or take. The woman breezed past Mike and headed directly for the casket, stopped briefly, laid something on top of the coffin and then turned to leave.

Mike had finally seen Anders signal and was trying to disentangle himself from the sobbing Joyce. He was having little luck. Steve rose from his chair, but Norm grabbed his sleeve. "Let somebody else handle it, your job is strictly reconnaissance on this one."

Mike finally handed the weeping woman off to the wife of one of the officers present and walked purposefully out the door in pursuit of Steve's "sister."

00000

Just minutes later, at precisely 4 pm, George Anders announce the end of visiting hours and tactfully shooed the remaining mourners out the front door. The uniformed honor guard left as soon as the room cleared. Steve and Norm stood up and stretched. They went to the front door and saw Bill standing sentry, preventing members of the press from entering. Steve looked around for Mike and the elusive Ms. Staas but saw neither. Dan Healy and Sgt. Sekulovitch were waiting in the lobby area.

"Where's Mike?" Steve asked the two officers, pulling off the fake glasses.

"We just saw him. He took off out of here after that tall brunette with the sun glasses," Dan replied. "I think they went out the rear exit."

"Did he have anybody with him?"

"I don't think so Steve, although he might have grabbed one of the uniforms from out back." Sekulovitch added. Steve had a very bad feeling.

"Norm, go see what she left on the coffin. I'm going to head out back and see if I can find Mike."

"Not by yourself, my young friend," Norm answered, "Sekulovitch, check the casket, but use a handkerchief, we might be able to get prints on whatever she left."

Norm pulled off the veil and whimple and dropped them on a chair that sat next to the back door. When they exited the funeral home, they were surprised to find the service driveway deserted. The officers guarding the rear door were absent, although the crackle of a police radio told Steve and Norm that their squad car was still parked a little beyond the mouth of the driveway. Steve's anxiety grew as they walked down the narrow passage to where the police cruiser was parked by the curb, just in time to see the mystery woman disappear into an alley across the street.

Without hesitation, Steve took off at a run, pulling his .38 from the holster strapped to the small of his back, veil and scapular flapping behind him as he ran. Norm called out, before drawing his own weapon and taking off after him.

Steve stopped at the entrance of the alley and waited for Norm to catch up before entering.

"What the hell are you doing Steve?" Norm yelled, panting after his quick sprint.

Steve held his finger up to his mouth and pointed to the alley.

They could clearly hear moaning and the slam of a car door.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve sat on the hood of the LTD with his head in his hands. For the moment, he forgot the absurdity of the situation and gave into fear, grief and guilt. Blood dripped unnoticed from the torn stitches on his hand and disappeared into the folds of his black habit, now grimy and ripped. How stupid they had been, they'd walked right into it. _Mike_ , he thought ruefully, _I'm so sorry_ , _this it totally my fault_. Just last night he'd assumed there was nothing he had left that was worth taking. How could he have been so wrong? All the material inconveniences he had suffered were trivial now, compared with the loss of Mike. But maybe that trail of trivia would add up to the path to find him.

"It's not your fault kid." Norm walked up and leaned on the car, "We all missed this scenario. We did exactly what your mystery stalker wanted us to do." He paused a minute, looking down at Steve's hand. "You know you're going to need to go to the ER and get that fixed."

Steve shook him off and glanced down, looking at the blood. When the car had barrelled out of the alley, Norm and he had bailed out left and right, coming roughly into contact with the concrete sidewalk. By the time they had righted themselves, the car was gone. Steve watched as Norm rolled his shoulders to loosen muscles battered by the impact.

"Are you ok, Norm?" Steve asked.

"I'll be better when we figure out where Mike is."

Steve slid off the car hood and pulled up the scapular of his habit to staunch the flow of blood. "Where are the two uniforms?" he asked.

"Sitting in their cruiser, feeling stupid."

"Do they need to get checked out?"

"Probably wouldn't be bad idea. Manhandled, cuffed and gagged, not fun. Plus, Harrison took a pretty hard knock on the head."

"Do they have any idea what happened?"

"Haven't had the time to ask them yet, the labs on the way and Bill's checking the back door and the alley. Why don't you head over to the ER with our two super cops and ask them yourself while you get stitched up."

Steve was about to do just that when Sekulovitch brought a plastic evidence bag over, the letter the mystery woman left on the coffin splayed inside. "Thought you'd wanna see this before Charlie takes it to the lab."

Steve laid the bag on the car and read the note, in what was clearly a feminine hand, addressed to him. Norm read over his shoulder.

 _Dear Inspector Keller,_

 _As you know by now, there is nothing that you have that I can't take from you._ _Some time ago, in the name of justice, you stripped away everything that I hold dear, therefore I am returning the favor._ _I hold no ill will towards the good lieutenant, he is safe for the time being. His only crime is being precious to you. If you want him to stay that way, you need to recall your crimes against my family and atone for them._

" _ **If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness."**_

 _YOU have caused this darkness. If your friend dies, the blame sits squarely on your shoulders._

 _Time is ticking away, Inspector. It won't last forever. If you truly want to see you friend again, you will remember and repent. I'll be waiting for you._

Norm finally broke the silence. "Not a hell of a lot there except finger pointing."

"Well there is one thing, she said _my family_. Then there's another cryptic French quote. Victor Hugo from "Les Miserables" this time, I think."

"How do you remember this junk, Keller?"

Steve ignored him and concentrated on note. _Where to begin and atone for what?_ He though.

"So where do we start?" Norm asked, giving voice to Steve's thoughts as Bill walked up.

"Charlie and the lab guys are over in the alley now, but he pretty much said don't hold your breath on this one." Bill said.

Steve was irritated by the statement, "What do you mean, don't hold my breath, IT'S MIKE."

"Don't you think they know that Steve?" Bill responded, his voice also raised. "I did find this by the back door." Bill thrust a crumpled piece of paper in Steve's direction. He grabbed it and flattened it out on the car hood.

"Thank you, Mike." Steve said in a whisper, looking up toward the sky. Bill and Norm looked at Steve quizzically. "It's the court order for my medical records that O'Brien left with Mike at the viewing. It will tell us who signed the death certificate. If we ID the doctor, well hopefully, it's a toe hold into this case." Steve smiled, momentarily buoyed by Mike's resourcefulness. "In spite of what happened, he managed to leave it for us and that's where I'm going to start."

Steve considered what else they had to go on before he spoke again. As panicked as he was over this, it wouldn't help Mike if he lost it. Steve retreated to routine procedure to bury the sick feeling in his stomach.

"We need to figure out who this mystery woman is, and whether she is the cause of this or just a piece in the puzzle. We all saw her, so let's get a sketch artist and see if we can get a picture to spread around. I doubt we'll get anything on the car. Too many large dark sedans with California tags in San Francisco. I wish we could have gotten the plate number" Steve trailed of idly.

"Ah, we were a little busy," Norm interjected.

Steve raised an eyebrow. "The dead con had a link to the guys who escaped from Alcatraz in '62. That is the only connection that we could find that had anything to do with me. It's really thin, but it's all we have. Someone needs to find out where all the players from the Mission High case are right now. Alec Whalen III, Marc Whalen, Mitchell Ballinger and Bri Molen. We know Charles Anglin (Clark Fisher) is dead, but we need to find if he had any family. We also need to see if we can track down the other Anglin brother, John."

Bill looked up from the notebook he had taken from his pocket, "There's gotta be more than that," he said looking at Steve.

Steve thought for a minute, "We need to check out the owner of the warehouse and the exterminator who provided the cyanide murder weapon." Steve stopped again, as if he was running out of resolve.

"Anything else you can think of?" Norm prompted, trying to keep Steve focused.

"Yeah, my car….maybe if we track it down we can figure out who called in for the tow." This point seemed superfluous to Steve now, but he'd follow any clue if it helped find Mike.

"We'll get him back." Bill said, putting his hand on Steve shoulder. "You head to the hospital and get stitched up. Get the statements from the uniforms, pick up your Medical Records and meet us back at Bryant Street. We'll check in with Captain Olsen and start tracking down some of these other leads."

"But first," Norm added, "maybe we should kick the habit."

00000

Mike's awoke in a mental fog. His throat felt sore and his stomach was churning. A sweet, slightly solvent-like smell hung on his clothes and permeated the air. It was a smell he associated with the hospital. Ether was the word that floated to the top his somewhat mushy thought process. He took a chance and opened his eyes, but there was very little change, the room he was in was almost completely black.

His attempt to wipe clear his eyes was thwarted by his own cuffs, which bound his hands behind his back. The cuffs seemed to be secured to the wall somehow. His feet were likewise hobbled by a significant amount of duct tape. He focused on a pinpoint of light at the far side of the room. It came through a crack between two pieces of plywood nailed to a small window. He couldn't tell if it was natural or artificial light, so he had no idea how much time had passed. The room was small, almost a closet. In addition to the boarded up window, there was a door off to the right. No exterior sound penetrated the space.

As his eyes adjusted to the minimal light, he saw a large metal basin on a table. He couldn't tell if it was full or empty, but he had a suspicion he didn't want to know what it contained. Mike noticed that something was draped in the basin. A wire he thought. His eyes followed the cord up to the ceiling and across to the door. With what had happened at the warehouse, he was certain it was another booby trap, but he had a sinking feeling that this one was not quite so harmless.

As Mike's thinking became clearer he tried to put together the timeline of events that had landed him in this situation. He had been at the viewing when the mystery woman came in. He'd followed her out the door and was surprised to find that the officers were missing. That was it. As hard as he tried, he couldn't remember anything beyond that.

He pulled his hands against the restraints in frustration _. Come on buddy boy, follow the evidence, you can figure this out._

00000

"I'm sorry Inspector Keller, we have no record of you ever being seen here. There was nothing when we called for your records." the young blonde said. She already thought the situation with the man in the nun's habit was odd and then there was no active file, despite his insistence. "We'll have do a complete triage," she added, giving Steve a toothy smile while she handed him a ream of medical background and insurance paperwork.

"Julie, right," Steve said to the nurse, checking her name tag and flashing a heart-melting smile of his own. "I just got these stitches here a few nights ago. I promise you I've been here many times. There's just a hiccup with my file and I'm going to straighten it out as soon as I'm done here. Do I really, really have to fill these out?" Steve was in no mood to recount the whole declared dead scenario with the RN.

The young lady wavered under the power of Steve's charm, and badge, but ultimately held fast on the required documentation.

Aggravated, Steve dropped the act and looked around for someone he knew. "Tell me, is Delores Pollack or Dr. Michaels on tonight?"

"Delores is off, Dr. Michaels is on break; I think I saw him getting coffee. Would you like me to page him?" The nurse said in a huff, unhappy with Steve's attempt to circumvent the rules.

"That would be swell," Steve said sarcastically.

If the doc thought there was something strange about the way Steve was dressed, he had the good sense to keep it to himself, although he thoroughly chastised Steve for the damage he had done to the last set of stitches. Steve looked away while Dr. Michael's replaced the sutures in his hand, staring down at another set of clothes that were not his own. Michael's had been kind enough to get Steve a set of scrubs, so he was finally free of the now nasty habit.

"How are the other two officers that came in with me?" Steve inquired.

"Oh, they'll be fine. Harrison will have to stay overnight because of the concussion. He is up in 309. I already cut McCartney loose, I think his pride was more injured than he was. He is up waiting for you in his partner's room. I guess you'll be headed up to take their statement after we're done?"

"That'll be my second stop. First, I'm going to go down to records to find out who declared me dead."

The doctor raised his eyebrows at Steve's comment. "What the hell are you talking about?"

As Steve recounted the tale of the obituary and funeral to the doctor, he had an idea. "Say doc, did you perhaps have an indigent come in here on Thursday with suspected poisoning?"

"Are you a psychic now inspector? How the heck did you know that?"

"So you're saying yes?"

"Yeah, cyanide poisoning. He didn't make it. Accident we thought, was found by an exterminator. He's the one who brought him in. He was really broken up by it."

"Tell me, what happens after you declare a time of death."

"The attending, in this case me, notes the time of death on the chart and signs off on it, then someone comes up and gets the body and the file. Thursday was really crazy in here, as you recall, so our John Doe sat up here for a while.

"So all someone would have to do was switch out the files." Steve said mostly to himself. "The orderly who came up for transport would take the body and whatever file was associated with it."

"Yeah, that's right. Hey you're not accusing anybody here of causing this mess, are you?"

"I don't know yet, Doc." Steve answered honestly. "Say, who usually signs off on the death certificate?"

"The MD that is on duty in the Morgue down stairs."

The Doc bandaged Steve's hand. After he was done, he wrote Steve a new script for antibiotics. "Do you think you can manage to keep those in till it heals this time inspector?"

"I'll try Doc, and thanks for the info." Steve said as he got up and headed down to medical records.

00000

"What can I do you for," a distracted records clerk asked from behind a paperback novel.

"I have a warrant for some records," Steve replied.

"Name?"

"Keller, Steven J."

"Living or deceased?"

Steve hesitated, "Deceased."

The twenty-something clerk dropped his book and walked over to the counter. "Warrant?"

Steve dropped the crumpled warrant on the counter. "What'd you do, used this as a placemat?"

"I'm kind of in a hurry," Steve replied, agitation rising in his voice.

The clerk finally looked up at Steve, dressed in borrowed scrubs. "You got a badge?" He asked skeptically. Steve pulled out his ID. The clerk looked at the ID and looked back at Steve, his eyes suddenly wide.

"What was the name of the deceased again?"

Steve sighed, "Keller, Steven J., don't even ask."

"OK dude, it's your funeral." The clerk replied and walked away from the counter.

Steve paced back and forth nervously, awaiting the return of the clerk. This was all taking too long. Finally the clerk returned and dropped the file on the counter and returned to his novel without a word.

Steve opened the file. The copy of the death certificate was prominently located at the top of the folder. He took one look at the signature, shook his head and walked out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Mike heard the door creek and closed his eyes tightly as light flooded the tiny space. He sensed rather than saw the presence of others in his small prison. When his eyes adjusted, he was in the company of the mysterious chestnut haired woman.

"Bonsoir, Lieutenant."

"Miss Staas," Mike replied.

The green eyed woman laughed, "Mrs. Rather than Miss, is technically accurate, but that is a moot point. I think the term Dr. is perhaps more correct."

The voice was deep, with a slight French accent. Mike's placed her accent as native San Franciscan, educated in France; well educated. The Montesquieu quote came to mind.

"Then Dr. Staas, what's this is all about?"

"Mike. May I call you Mike?"

He nodded.

"So impatient, I would have assigned that trait to your impetuous partner, not to a man of your years and experience. We certainly have time for pleasantries."

"Lady, there is nothing pleasant about this situation."

"For you perhaps. I am finding the whole situation tres amusant. But maybe I have been an inconsiderate host." She motioned to the door and a man entered. He was about 40, short, brawny and dark. To Mike's eyes, he was hired muscle. He pointed a .22 at Mike.

"Tony, please release one of the Lieutenant's hands and get him something to drink."

Tony handed the gun over to Lois, who kept it pointed in Mike's direction. He released one of the cuffs and held out a glass of water. Mike flexed his hand before taking the cup and then sniffed the contents cautiously.

"Oh, so suspicious Mike. Don't worry, I don't have any issues with you. I want this to be as painless as possible for you. As long as your partner atones for his sins, you'll be free."

"If you think I believe that, you're just as nuts as I think you are. You can't let me go and expect to get away with this."

"That's where you're wrong Mike, I don't expect to get away with this. I've nothing left to live for."

Mike considered her answer as he drained the cup, now very afraid for Steve and himself. She was the most dangerous type of criminal, someone with nothing left to lose. Tony retrieved the cup and reattached the handcuff.

"Ok, if you won't answer the first question, what's in the bowl?" Mike looked at the metal bowl with the wire, which he now saw led to a contact switch on the door and the jamb.

"Ah, very observant, that would be ether."

"The anesthetic?"

"Yes, ether. I work as a doctor after all. It's very easy to come by. It's a very funny little substance. Medically, it is highly useful, as you have experienced, but it has some, shall we say, problematic properties. There is a reason they are phasing ether out as the anesthetic of choice at most hospitals. Do you know what happens when you expose ether to metal and air?"

Mike remained silent. He was starting to feel a little woozy.

"It forms a new compound, Diethyl Ether Peroxide. Add a little spark, and well, shall we say the results are explosive. Terry, such a good friend to a member of my family, was quite gifted with wiring, as you recall from the warehouse." She waved her hand at the door. "He helped me out with this little project before he went to his eternal reward." Seeing Mike's expression, she continued, "Don't worry Mike, he didn't suffer. He was blissfully unaware when his end came."

Mike stared blankly at the women. He was now having a hard time comprehending what she was saying.

"What's the matter Mike, are you tired of our little chat already? Or maybe it was something you drank?"

Mike barely heard her last comment before he dropped into a drug induced slumber.

"Just as I said, painless as possible. Rest well, Lieutenant." Lois crooned as she extinguished the light and rearmed the door.

00000

It was half-past eight by the time Steve got back to Bryant Street. Usually quite on a Sunday night, the bull pen was a bustle of activity. Steve looked over at Mike's office and was surprised to see Captain Olsen sitting at the desk manning the phone.

Mike had been gone now for over four hours. Steve had wasted most of that time at the hospital and it had done nothing for his temperament. The lidocaine he had received had mostly warm off, along with the remnants of his patience. He was tired, sore and angry.

The statements from Harrison and McCartney had told him nothing, except that the mystery woman was not alone. One minute they were standing at the door, the next they were handcuffed and gagged in the alley. Norm was right, _a couple of supercops._

The records department had been only slightly more illuminating. It's seems his mystery sister, Lois Staas did more than just arrange his funeral. Her signature was prominently displayed on the bottom of the death certificate. Checking the personnel records at the hospital would have to wait till Monday morning, about 12 hours or so from now, unless Olsen could bring some pressure to bear on the hospital. 12 hours, Steve hoped Mike had that long.

He'd gone down to the morgue after he saw the name in the file and the attendant ID'd Staas from Steve's description, and thought she had been working there for over a year. The question remained: why? Who the hell was Lois Staas, and what did she have against him?

Steve was anxious to hear what Norm and Bill and from the looks of it, everyone else in the office, had dug up so far. He downed a few aspirin plus one dose of antibiotics and chased it with a cup of coffee, he would worry about his stomach lining later. Right now, after two sleepless nights and a trip to the ER, he just needed to stay on his feet, try to keep his emotions in check and find Mike.

He was walking over to get an update from Norm when Rudy Olsen waved him into Mike's office, where he dropped heavily into his customary chair.

"You looking for a change of career, Keller?"

Steve looked down at the scrubs he was wearing and intended to reply with a snarky comeback, but he didn't have the energy. "Um, no sir, just haven't been able to get into my apartment; landlord padlocked it and went out of town."

"Well I think I can help you with that. He handed Steve a pink message slip. "Your landlord called, I assured him that you are very much alive. Give him a call. He said he'd have the padlock off as soon as he gets into town, probably by ten tonight."

Yesterday, this news would have made Steve deliriously happy. Tonight, he didn't even respond.

Rudy looked him over carefully. "You sure you're up for this, no offense but you look like the walking dead."

"I'm fine," Steve lied and the Captain knew it. "I don't even know this woman, yet she arranges my funeral and then gets a job at the hospital, waiting for me to show up? How did she know there would be a body to swap out when I came in to get stitches? Unless, she orchestrated my trip to ER and my body double's death as well." Steve put his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the intricacies of her plot dizzying.

"If that's the case, someone needs to go down and talk to the woman you met in the alley from Thursday night." Olsen said. "I'll see if I can pull some strings and get someone to crack open the personnel files at the hospital. We need more information on Dr. Staas." Steve agreed.

Rudy took another good look at Steve and saw the stress written in his body language. "I know Mike's important to you, but If you can't keep it together…"

Steve looked Rudy in the eye and walked out of the office, pausing at the coffee pot. He decided against another cup. He walked over to Norm's Desk.

"How you holding up, Steve?"

Steve didn't answer, "Please tell me you've got something."

Norm shook his head. The news was not good. Sunday night was not conducive to information gathering. Calls were made, but now it was a waiting game. Bill walked over and ticked off the things they couldn't do until start of business on Monday. Steve was getting more and more frustrated as the list of what they didn't know grew.

"NOTHING! We got NOTHING!" Steve raged. Everyone within ear shot stopped and looked his way. "What the hell are you looking at?" He challenged, heading for the door.

"I'm going down to lockup. Maybe I can get something from that chick from Thursday night."

00000

Steve stormed out the bull pen door. He knew his control was gone, but he had to do something. Norm trailed after him and called his name. Steve kept walking. Norm sped up and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around.

"Steve, stop."

"What?"

Norm gave Steve a glare that rivaled Mike at his best. "You need to cool it. If Mike saw you like this, he'd have you on the bench and you know it." Norm lowered his voice, "Dammit, Steve this isn't helping. I'm going down to lockup with you, no arguments. Bill is heading out to see if any of his snitches know anything about the muscle she hired. Everybody else is working the phones. I told you before, we'll figure this out."

Steve rubbed his eyes, dragging his hand down to his chin. He needed a shave. "Whatever," he replied, shaking loose of Norm grip.

"One more thing, Keller. When we're done downstairs, you're calling your landlord and going home to change. You ain't no _Doctor Kildare_ , got me?"

 _ **A/N: Ether was in fact being phased out as early as the 1950's but was still in use in the 1970's. Records show that somewhere around 1 in 1,000 usages caused combustion. Yikes! As it oxidizes, it is highly volatile and will ignite with a spark or open flame.**_

 ** _If I butchered the foreign spellings, I'm sorry. I looked it up on Google._**


	14. Chapter 14

Lois looked at the framed picture on the table. She picked it up and wistfully brushed the surface of the glass. "Soon, my darling, very soon we will have our vengeance. Then we can be together forever."

She was anxious. Things were going too slow. Keller should have been closer to the solution with all the clues she had left. She'd not hidden her identity or her activities, but it was probable that the inspector's information gathering was hobbled by the weekend. She was getting impatient for the dénouement.

The Doctor momentarily considered that perhaps she had been too cryptic in the trail of left breadcrumbs, but dismissed the idea. She ultimately wanted him to figure it out slowly and suffer not only the short term inconvenience of being declared dead but languish in the emotional distress of what followed. She wanted him to feel the despondency that she herself felt before the coda. This would be the sweetest part of her revenge, to watch the detective unravel as his beloved Lieutenant's captivity lengthened. _That was the problem with love_ she thought ruefully, _it left you open to so much pain when it was taken from you. It made you weak._

She had never expected to be in this situation, because she had never been anything but strong. Love hadn't been part of her long term plans when she moved to Paris to finish her MD and then her PHD. She had been the ultimate medical researcher: clinical, detached, determined. She reveled in the minutia of her research, demanded redundancy in her experiments and data. She got results, ethics be damned. But along the way, her methods and successes created enemies, powerful enemies in the scientific community who ultimately and unfairly (in her mind) discredited her and drove her out, back to the United States.

She might have been tempted to perseverate on those responsible for her disgrace, but something unexpected happened, she fell in love. She was immersed totally in this new experience, losing herself and her distress in newfound bliss. Some said that he was beneath her, but she dismissed the idea. She knew he was damaged when she met him, but so was she after the debacle in Paris. Somehow that didn't matter, it was what made them perfect for each other. Then it evaporated, the results of Keller's actions ruined it all.

When her love was gone, she was bereft. As a scientist, she understood the nature of emptiness, the vacuum. The old saying was true, nature does abhor a vacuum and hers soon became filled with hate and an almost physical need for revenge.

She quickly found that she was very, very good at malevolence, investing the same methodical diligence to the art of animosity as she had to science. Lois would let the tragic opera she orchestrated, her personal "Carmen," as she now considered it, play out its fourth act, no matter how long it took.

00000

Steve repeatedly punched the down button on the elevator impatiently. When the doors finally opened, he barely let the departing riders exit before he forced his way in. Norm followed him and hit the button for the detention level.

"So what's up, Doc?" Norm asked, trying to get Steve to lighten up a little. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Pretty straightforward, Norm. I need to know if this was a set up. If the answer is yes, we have to find out who commissioned it. Although, I'm already quite sure I know who this will lead to."

Steve's calm clinical description of the situation was a façade. He figured if he at least pretended to be under control, he could get through the next couple of hours.

They walked up to the duty desk. "Is Vicki Rossi still one of your guests?" Norm asked.

The desk sergeant looked up, gaping at Steve dressed in scrubs and then looked back at his clipboard, "Um, Yeah, she's still here, we are waiting on a transfer to the women's detention center. You guys know how slow that is on the weekend."

Steve and Norm nodded. "Can you move her into an interrogation room?"

"Sure, let me call the matron."

Steve paced while they waited for the prisoner. Norm closed his eyes to avoid the display of nervous energy. The sergeant gave a sign and they entered the small room. A matron was sitting next to the suspect at a plain wooden table. A few days as a guest of the SFPD had not softened Vicki's attitude and she laughed out loud at the sight of him in the rumpled green scrubs.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be, Kelly Brackett?" she asked as Steve sat in the chair across the table from her. Norm remained standing, leaning on a file cabinet that was tucked into the corner. Steve said nothing. What came off as the silent treatment was in reality an attempt to gather his frayed thoughts and emotions into an imitation of a profession law enforcement officer.

Vicki became more and more restless as the silence grew in length and awkwardness. "What do you want? If you don't say something soon, Inspector, you can take me back to my goddamn cell. What are you, a freak or something?"

Steve looked at the dishwater blonde with obvious roots. In the alley, she had been aggressive; teased, sprayed and overly made up. Now she was a pathetic, tired junkie in bad need of a fix and a makeover.

"Who hired you?" Steve asked in a low, controlled tone.

"Oh, he speaks," she spat in his direction, crossing her arms over her chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Who hired you?" Steve said again, the quiet determination in his voice startled Norm a little. He knew Steve was on the edge, but the scary, brooding cop act concerned him. He'd never seen Steve quite like this before. Steve went silent again and just stared at Vicki. She returned his stare with one of her own.

Silence ruled again for a few minutes. Vicki finally tired of the game of chicken and looked at Norm. "What is wrong with this pig?"

Steve slammed his hand down on the table, startling everyone in the room.

"Look Ms. Rossi, I don't have the time or patience for your crap tonight, so tell me: Who paid you to lure me down to the alley behind the bar and come after me with the bottle." Steve barked. He slid his damaged hand onto the table to emphasize his point."

"Oh, that was you handsome, was it?" she answered coyly. "I didn't recognize you out of your detective uniform." Vicki shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Who was it?" He asked again, in a menacing whisper.

Vicki looked back at Steve and nervously pushed a strand of limp hair behind her ear. He knew he had her when she finally asked, "What's in it for me, cop?"

00000

90 minutes later, Steve and Norm pulled up in front of Steve's Union Street apartment. The steps seemed interminable as Steve trudged up to his door, followed by Norm. The pad lock was gone. Steve slipped his key in the lock and entered his apartment for the first time in a few days.

"Give me 10 minutes. I think there is some soda in the fridge." He called to Norm as the Armenian detective parked himself on the couch, waiting for Steve to change.

Vicki had ID'd Lois from Norm and Steve description. It seemed that everyone remembered the woman's unusual pale green eyes. The threat of an accessory to murder and kidnapping charge was amazingly effective at jogging her memory. She had given them a phone number, but Steve had a suspicion that it would be just as useless as the one from George Anders file at the funeral home.

Steve dropped the sweats directly in the trash bin. He desperately wanted a shower, but knew that that was a luxury for another time. He pulled out a pair of brown slacks, his favorite checkered shirt and dark tie out of the closet. He clipped his holster on the back of his belt and slipped his ID in the pocket of his tan jacket. For the first time since he read the obituary in the newspaper, he felt like himself. That feeling lasted all of about a minute, just until he trotted downstairs and saw Norm on his couch instead of Mike.

Norm and Steve drove back to Bryant Street in silence. The smell of fresh coffee assaulted them when they opened the bull pen door. Steve was a little surprised to see just as many bodies there as when they left. He went to his desk and tried the phone number that Vicki had provided. To his surprise the call went through, but after numerous unanswered rings, he slammed down the phone in frustration. One more thing to follow up on. Norm was handing Steve a fresh cup of coffee when Charlie came in the door with a manila folder in his hand.

Steve looked expectantly toward the department's resident "Mr. Wizard."

Charlie held up his hand, "Don't get your hopes up too much Steve. The alley and driveway were a cornucopia of prints and substances. I'll take forever to identify every sample."

Steve's face fell, "Then what are you doing here?"

Charlie frowned, "Nice to see you too Steve. I said don't expect TOO much, I didn't say I came all the way up here empty handed." He laid the file on Steve's desk and opened it to reveal the letter. Norm and Steve crowded in to look at the evidence. "We got some nice clean prints on this. We'll get it compared to DMV records and see if we can come up with an ID.

Steve's shoulders sank. "Charlie we already have that. Her name is Lois Staas. We ran her through California DMV and came up with nothing. You got anything else for me?"

Undeterred by Steve's cool reception to his last revelation, Charlie pressed on. "We also found this." Charlie pulled a second plastic evidence bag from the folder. It contained a plain white handkerchief.

"What is it?"

"It's a handkerchief."

Norm put his hand on Steve's shoulder and whispered, "Easy kid," to head off Steve's reaction to the lab man's comment. It was a good thing he did.

"Charlie," Norm said in a frustrated, tired tone, "We know it's a handkerchief, we are exhausted, Mike's missing and it's…" He looked over his shoulder at the clock, "midnight. Can you please just tell us why it's important?"

"Well, you guys need to ask more specific questions, is all I'm saying."

"Charlie, no lessons in science etiquette tonight, _please_ tell me why you brought it up here," Steve pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's soaked in ether. That's probably how they took Mike, and the officers down without a struggle."

"Make's sense Steve," Norm began, "if she's a doctor, she could easily get her hands on ether."

"I get it Norm, but it's just one more thing we can't check out until start of business tomorrow." Steve added with a disappointed tone.

Charlie turned to leave, but Steve had a thought and stopped him. He remembered something from a college chemistry class about ether, but he couldn't quite get his brain to retrieve the information. "Charlie, is there anything you can tell us about ether," Steve stopped, and then started again, refining his question for the persnickety scientist. "Anything other than its obvious uses?"

Charlie smiled. "See, you can be taught. Yes it has a nasty habit of catching fire or blowing up if it's not handled properly. That's why I have it sealed in a bag."

Steve sat down at his desk and stared at Norm. That was exactly what he was afraid of.

This whole situation was infuriating. Every time he turned around, he ran into the woman with the green eyes. Who was she and what did she have against him? Until he could get into her personnel file at the hospital, he had little hope of finding out what the connection was. He desperately hoped finding that connection might be the clue that led him to Mike.

He thought about the indigent demolition expert who briefly occupied his coffin. What was the link between Terry Mumau and Lois Staas? It seemed an unlikely pairing. He felt like he was missing a common denominator somehow. One thing he was sure of however, the involvement of a dead man who created booby traps and a doctor with access to a volatile compound was no coincidence and a potentially lethal combination.

 _ **A/N: I apologize for the beginning of the chapter. You just don't get to write super villain inner monologues very often. LOL**_

 _ **Mister Wizard was a TV science program in the US aimed at children. It ran from 1951 to 1965, and again in 1971-72 and 1983-1990. (Think of a kind of Bill Nye from B &W TV days.)**_

 _ **Kelly Brackett was the character name of the lead ER doctor in the show "Emergency!" of the same period. I put it in there for a certain someone, you know who you are.**_


	15. Chapter 15

Bill entered the bull pen around 2:00 am to find Steve and the Captain in Mike's office reviewing papers laid out in tidy piles on the desk. At the top of each pile was a picture or a mug shot. Steve was pushing them around trying to rearrange them.

"What's the word on the streets, Bill?" Steve asked as he turned to face the detective. Bill was pleased to see Steve in his customary clothes, but was dismayed to see how frayed, pale and tired he looked. Bill glanced around the office. It seemed that everybody else had finally called it a night, save for Norm, who appeared to be dozing at his desk.

"Your mystery woman threw around a lot of cash lately to hire some local muscle. Everybody I talked to remembered her, especially the eyes. She didn't seem to be shy about what she was doing."

"Yeah, we are figuring that out. She seems to have used her real name in all her dealings too. Hospital Morgue, Funeral Home, Cemetery, even showing up at the viewing, she wrote it clearly in the guest book. It's almost like she wanted us to find out." Steve replied.

"That's a little scary, Steve," Bill stated, "Anything on the APB or the copies of the sketches Norm sent out?"

"Nothing," said Steve absently as he stared at the desk. "She's made herself scarce since she grabbed Mike."

"What's all this?" Bill asked as he followed Steve's eyes to the desk.

"We're trying to organize all the things we know and need to know. First we have Lois with the big question mark." Steve pointed to the artist sketch of the doctor.

Next we have our dead guy, Terry Mumau. We know there's a connection between those two" he slid the piles next to each other, "but we don't know where their paths crossed. He was a bomb expert in Korea, but he's been on the streets for a while."

"Then we have the Mission High crew, that's the connection to me." Steve line these piles up in a row next to Mumau's "The only reason they are here is because Mumau was in Alcatraz at the same time as the Anglin brothers. Charles is dead. But we did find a daughter. Dan was trying to track her down before Rudy sent him home. John is still in the wind, possibly in Las Vegas, but the cops out there haven't had any luck finding him in the past few years, I don't see that changing."

"We also have Bri Molen, the sister. She's on parole. She moved over to San Leandro 6 months ago. We're having the Alameda County Sherriff pull her in for questioning. She might be able to shed some light on Charles' life after he escaped the Rock or John's whereabouts, but I wouldn't hold my breath on that possibility. She didn't talk before, and I doubt she will now."

"Over here is the building we found the dead guy in. Someone needs to figure out who owns it when City Records Office opens in…" Steve looked at his watch, "seven hours. It will be that long before we can call the exterminator as well. Ditto on tow companies for my car."

"What about the materials used in the booby trap Mumau set in the warehouse? Were we able to track them?"

"Lee checked it out. Most of the stuff was so common, it could have been picked up anywhere. He did check out the florist, but that led right back to Dr. Staas. We still need to follow the ether trail."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. They still were no closer to finding Mike, but organizing the case material had served to dampen the panic he felt.

"What about the kids and the father that were involved in that case?" Rudy, who had been silent to this point, asked, indicating the three files on the far side of the desk.

"I don't know, Rudy. That seems like kind of a stretch." Steve replied, "They don't seem to have any connection to Staas or Mumau. The only connection they had with Molen and Anglin was that they tried to frame those kid. We know they both got drafted, but we have wait another couple hours until we can call DC to get their service records. The father was in Danberry, but he got out over a year ago. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to follow up on him."

Rudy looked at the clock and then at Bill, "Why don't you take sleeping beauty out there home and get a couple of hours sleep. I'll need some fresh brains in a few hours."

Bill looked pointedly toward Steve but he shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyhow, I'll be ok." Bill didn't like that answer but left the office and woke up Norm before they both departed.

Steve went quiet for a minute examining the drawing of Doctor Staas. It all began and ended with her. He was about to say something when the phone rang on Mike's desk. The captain picked it up and motioned for Steve to hand him a notepad.

Steve listened to the one sided conversation while he looked at the files on the desk. _Where is the link?_ He thought as he turned the information over in his brain.

"That was the chief administrator from San Francisco General," Rudy began. "He was not too thrilled about being woken up, but he said under the circumstances, he could get somebody over there to give you the file."

A small smile crosses Steve's face as he made a grab for the scrap of paper. Rudy held fast.

"Listen to me Keller. Just go and get the file and bring it back or call it in. There is no way you are in any shape to follow up on what you find out. Remember, originally this was all directed at you, you are the target, not Mike. You going out on your own crusade, half asleep, is not going to help him."

Steve flinched at the statement and started to protest, but knew that wouldn't get him the contact information he wanted.

"Yes, sir," was his response. In his heart, however, he knew it was an order he was unlikely to follow, consequences be damned. Rudy was well aware that that was the case, but also understood that when Mike was in danger, he had very little chance of stopping him.

"Don't make me regret this decision," Rudy called out as Steve sped out of the office. He already did.

00000

Steve left to meet Jackie Somerville at the ER entrance to the hospital. It was the only door that was open twenty four hours a day. He thought this was probably the first time he had ever come through this way when he or Mike weren't bleeding, broken or something worse. The thought of Mike set his heart beating in fear and turned his empty stomach. He stopped and tried to calm his ragged psyche as a woman flagged him down. Steve flashed his badge and greeted her respectfully.

"It's not normal for a personnel director to get an emergency call in the middle of the night, even though she works for a hospital. Is it really that important?" she asked with annoyance in her voice. It was now past 3 am and Mike had been gone close to 12 hour.

Steve countered her annoyance with a somber expression. "Yes, Ma'am it is. My partner is missing and we think one of your employees might know something that could help us find him." Steve was careful not to call the good doctor a suspect.

Somerville startled a bit at the information. "This is highly irregular. We don't usually let employee information go without a court order. We are bound to protect their privacy."

The mention of a court order nearly broke Steve's tenuous hold on his emotions. He didn't think he could handle another delay. He took several deep breaths before he responded. "Ma'am, I would not be here at 3 am if it weren't a life or death situation." His addled brain found those words ironic and a little funny as he uttered them in the ER. He took another deep breath to keep from letting a nervous laugh escape. _I gotta get a hold on myself,_ he though.

Steve followed the woman to the elevator. She punched the button for the second floor. When the doors opened they were greeted by a half lit hallway. "Emergency lighting," Somerville stated, "No one is supposed to be up here at this time of night. Follow me please."

She unlocked an office door and turned on the lights, proceeding to another door, which he assumed was the file room. Steve's supposition proved to be right as they entered a labyrinth of file cabinets which Somerville illuminated with the touch of a switch. _Finally an answer,_ Steve hoped. _Hang on Mike._

"Doctor, Nurse, or other employee?" Ms. Somerville repeated loudly for the third time, startling Steve.

"Doctor," he replied, _God, I'm really losing it_. He thought.

"Name?"

"Lois Staas, she works in the morgue."

"Oh, I remember her, the one with the odd green eyes, right?"

Steve shook his head in the affirmative as he followed her to a filing cabinet at the end of the row. _How was it that they couldn't find someone so memorable?_ She pulled the file and handed it to Steve, noticing that there was a large bandage on one hand and that both hands were shaking.

"Are you ok Inspector?"

"I'm fine," Steve lied. He was anything but fine. He thanked her and turned to leave.

"Hey wait. I'm going to need for you to sign for that, we don't usually let them leave this room."

00000

Steve took the file down to the LTD and sat down in the passenger seat, turning on the dome light. He opened the file and began to read. It was all here. Address, telephone number, education, work history. Everything seemed in order, and nothing linked her to him. He saw that she had worked for the federal government briefly before coming on at SF General last year.

Not one thing in the file seemed out of place. From her credentials and Curriculum Vitale, he could tell that she was scary smart, but he had figured that out already. It wasn't till he got to her next of kin that a tiny glimmer of light parted through the fog in his brain. He flipped back to her references and found the one he was looking for. There was the connection. The vendetta still didn't quite make sense to him, but it was a start.

He checked her address and phone number again. Surprisingly enough, he already had the correct phone number from Vicki. He paged to the back of the file and found her work schedule. She was scheduled to be in the morgue that night. Was she arrogant enough to come to work?

As stupid as the idea was, even to his befuddled brain, he had to find out. He really wasn't disobeying orders, he rationalized. He was meeting somebody at the hospital. Laying the file on the seat of the car, he exited and went back inside.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve walked back into the ER. He went over to the receiving desk and flashed his badge, surprised to see Nurse Julie still on duty.

"Well Inspector, you're looking more yourself in that outfit. What can I do for you? Did you have a problems with the stitches?"

"No, no they're fine. Jeez I thought I worked long hours, why are you still here?"

"12 hour staggered shifts, I was just waiting for my replacement when I saw you come in. What's up?"

"Can you tell me how to get down to the morgue?" Steve asked.

"Other than wheeled down on a gurney?" She smiled at him. "Sorry, after 12 hours I get a little punchy."

Steve could understand that, but groaned none the less, "Yeah, other than the one way trip method."

"Through the doors over there and down two flights of steps."

"Thank you, Julie," he said as he turned to leave, "Sleep well."

"Ah, Inspector?" She called, stopping Steve in his tracks, "You look like you should try to do the same."

"Soon, very soon I hope."

Steve took the stairs at a jog and walked down the hall they emptied into, eventually spying the overhead sign for the morgue. He tried the door. It was locked. A small notice pointed out a call button to the left of the door. _What the heck_ , Steve thought as he pushed the button activating an annoying buzzer. Steve heard a click as the magnetic lock was released remotely from somewhere within.

He undid the clip on his .38 and entered an outer office/reception area. There was another door along the back wall. He heard banging and a radio somewhere beyond the room blaring Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven." He was momentarily caught up in a case of warehouse déjà vu, but shoved that memory down hard as he pulled his weapon and went through the second door. The sound got louder the further back he traveled.

When he ran out of hallway, he looked to his left to see a tall, skinny 20-something man wearing scrubs, mopping the lab floor in time to the music. Steve holstered his gun and tried to gain the man's attention over the blaring music.

"HELLO," he called several times before finally touching the man on the shoulder. The man startled into a comic ballet of body and mop.

You scared the shit out of me dude!" he bellowed, dropping the mop and moving to the counter to turn off the music.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he challenged Steve, shouting despite the absence of music.

Steve flashed his ID.

"OK, that tells me you're the man, but what're you doing here?"

Steve ignored the sweet, pungent aroma of high quality weed that emanated from the attendant's scrubs and answered with a question of his own. "Is Doctor Staas around?"

"No, man. She checked out about an hour ago. Said she wasn't feeling well."

The fragile control he had managed to hold on his emotions was just about gone. He didn't know what he would have done if she had actually been there, he hadn't really thought that far ahead, but discovering that he had only missed her by an hour nearly undid him. He wanted to throttle this guy, just because he was standing there instead of Lois. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Who are you?" Steve asked, his tone colored by ire.

The scrub clad man suddenly became self-conscious and suspicious. "Why are you hassling me?"

"Look, _man,"_ Steve began, "I've got no beef with you. I just want to find the doc."

The attendant relaxed, "Ryan, Greg Ryan. I'm the night shift around here."

"You a Doctor?"

"No, man, just a tech. Without Dr. S here tonight, if anybody buys it, I just shelve em and file the paperwork. Mostly I move bodies, push papers, run tests." He picked up the mop, "And, keep this place clean for our guests."

Steve thought for a minute, "Hey, were you on duty Thursday night about 10 pm or so."

"I told you dude, I am the nighttime _crypt keeper._ If the sun's down, I'm on the job."

"Do you remember the body of a cop coming in that night?"

"Maybe, let me check the log. Yeah, here it is Keller, Steven J., no autopsy, just bag, tag and ship."

"Did you pick up the body from the ER?"

Greg thought for a minute. "No, funny thing, Dr. S. went up and got that one herself. See, it's on the log." Greg showed Steve the listing on the clipboard. "She is an odd bird, that one, creepy eyes. She kinda makes me nervous. Honestly, I'm glad she's not here tonight, _if you know what I mean."_

Steve smiled knowingly. Both men went quiet.

Greg remembered something after a minute, "Hey hold on, when she left she handed me an envelope. She said if someone turned up tonight looking for her, I should give it to him."

Greg dropped the mop again and walked out to the front office, Steve trailing in his wake. He rummaged around the desk and finally found the envelope and read the writing on the outside aloud. "You Steven J. Keller?"

"Um, yeah," Steve said, waiting a beat for the realization to catch up with the morgue tech.

"Hey, wait, dude, isn't that the name of the dead guy?"

Steve ignored the question and put the letter in his coat pocket. He had an idea, "Greg, tell me. Do you guys have lockers?"

Greg got very nervous once again, "Yeah. Why do you want to know?"

"Do you think I could get a peek into Dr. S's? She a friend of mine," he patted the letter in his pocket and gave Greg another smile, "and she is holding something for me."

"I guess it's cool, if she's a friend, bro."

Greg led Steve into the locker room and pointed out Lois'. He stood protectively in front of another locker on the other side of the row. Steve shook his head at the sight and tried the handle on the locker. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He opened the door and gaped at the contents.

"Far out, Dude," Greg intoned peering in at the stash.

Steve ignored the lab tech. He saw a newspaper clipping taped to the door of the locker and pulled it down. It was an obituary dated exactly one year before the date that his own false notice had been posted. After reading it, the reason for this whole crazy incident instantly became clear. He shook his head as he put the clipping in his pocket, then slammed the locker door shut.

"Don't touch anything, Greg. Somebody will be by very soon to collect the contents of this locker." Steve paused a minute, "I suggest you get yours cleaned out before they get here, _dude_." He added with a laugh as he headed for the door.

On his way out, Steve stopped at a payphone, calling Mike's desk number. Rudy Olsen answered the phone.

"Captain Olsen, it's Keller. We need to get the lab guys over to the hospital to check out this psycho doctor's locker in the morgue." She's got a whole pharmaceutical warehouse stashed in there." Steve checked his watch. It was almost 5:30 am. He listened impatiently to Rudy on the other end and then responded defensively. "NO, it was open, I didn't break into anything. The lab tech gave me permission to look." He listened again. "Yes sir, I have the file and I'm on my way back to Bryant Street now. I finally know what's going on here." He paused to listen again and then replied, "Yes, Sir, be there in twenty."

Steve sat down in the driver's seat of the LTD. He ignored the headache that was building behind his eyes and the gnawing fear that nibbled away at his ability to function. When he tore open the envelope Greg had given him, he noticed it had a gold metallic lining, like very high-end stationary. The paper had a funny, damp feel as he unfolded the letter and began to read.

 _Dear Inspector Keller,_

 _Congratulations. You are finally living up to my expectations as a worthy opponent. It really is no fun to destroy stupid people, and I was beginning to worry. Since you are reading this, I will assume you know the reason for this whole charade. Now that you know what you're guilty of, it is time to pay for your sins._

The only thing Steve knew at that moment was that he suddenly felt like his brain had slipped out of gear. His heart was beating a rapid tattoo against his chest and he was short of breath. What the hell was going on?

Steve looked down and noticed a card in the envelope. It had an address neatly written on it. He laid the card and letter on the seat, overwhelmed with dizziness and nausea. He pulled off his jacket and loosed his tie, then leaned his head on the steering wheel, very sweaty and confused. He tried to steady himself by taking a few deep breaths and picked up the letter again with shaking hands.

 _You now have my location, use it. I am not hiding from you. In fact, I'm expecting you to come and set your dear friend, Lieutenant Stone free. This ultimately is between you and me. No one else needs to die. I will be waiting for you._

 _Adieu for now, Lois_

 _PS. My dear Inspector I think Moliere said it best: "To live without loving is to not live." You need to hurry._

Steve started the car and wiped at the sweat that was now coating his face. He couldn't remember where he had originally planned to go but the the addressed card on the seat compelled him. That must be it, he thought as he shifted the car into drive.

00000

At 8 am, Bill and Norm reentered the bull pen, somewhat alert after a few hours sleep. Rudy Olsen was still in Mike's office, now talking on the phone. He waved the two detectives in as he hung up.

"That was booking. Alameda County sheriff just brought in Bri Molen. Tanner, go down and see if you can get anything out of her. Bill turned and left the office at a trot."

Rudy turned to Norm and picked up a sheet of paper. "The Department of Defense returned our call. It's finally business hours on the east coast. I just started reading the report on the kids from Mission High. Both got drafted. The one, Ballinger, really turned it around. He's still in the army. Served a tour in Nam and is currently stationed in North Carolina. Apparently he's now a model soldier."

Rudy took Ballinger's file and removed it from the organized array on the desk, dropping it on the floor. "He's definitely not involved."

Before he could go on, Norm queried the exhausted man, "Captain, where's Keller?"

"That is a very good question Haseejian. He called in to get a lab team over to the hospital about half past 5 this morning. He said he had figured something out and was on his way back. He hasn't checked in yet. If he doesn't get his tail back in here soon, his next job will be walking a beat in North Beach."

Norm stared open mouthed at Rudy, concerned with the Captain's odd take on the situation. "Um, sir, don't you think we should track him down?" Norm paused carefully considering his next statement, "And maybe it's time for you to knock off for a few hours?"

The Captain was about to share a few choice words with Norm when the phone rang on the desk. Rudy listened intently, jotted down a few notes and slammed down the phone. Norm watched in horror as he wrote down the words "Heroin, Librium, Valium, Ether, LSD, Sarin."

Norm whistled. "Damn, that's nerve gas." he said when he saw the last word. This terrible situation had just gotten a whole lot worse.

Rudy looked white faced at Norm. "These were all found in Dr. Staas' locker at the hospital. The lab guys are bringing the whole mess in now. They've already called in the feds."

Rudy sat down heavily and Norm looked at the exhausted officer. The presence of chemicals that threatened more than just his men seemed to rob Rudy of the last of his resolve.

"Sir, I really think you should go up to your office and get a little shut eye. I can pick this up from here."

"Maybe you're right Haseejian, maybe your right." Rudy stood up and handed Norm the paper with the report from the DoD. "This is the next piece of the puzzle, call me right away if you get anything."

Norm laid down the paper, grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to the desk as Dan Healy and Lee Lessing walked in the door. They came directly to Mike's office.

"What's up Norm?"

"A mess, that's what. They just found a shitload of dangerous drugs and chemicals in the crazy bitch's locker at the hospital. Steve has been in the wind since 5:30 am and we still don't know where Mike is. You guys got anything?"

"I found out who owns the warehouse." Dan said.

"How'd you do that, is only 8:25."

"Friend owed me a favor, he came in early and cracked open the files. It's owned by a company called Lomarc. They are headquartered here in San Francisco. I'll call over as soon as they open for business at 9."

"You think we should put an APB out on Steve?" Lee asked."

"Yeah, but first see if he maybe went home to catch a few hours of sleep." Norm said, knowing that was probably not the case.

The men left the office and Norm picked up the DoD report, trying to finish what Rudy had started. His raised an eyebrow when he read the remainder of the report and was getting ready to make a call when Lee poked his head in the door, with a smile on his face.

"I finally found Steve's car. It's at a shop over on Geary. Tow truck dropped it over the weekend and when they opened up this morning it was sitting there. Owner actually called it into SFPD because he didn't have it scheduled for repairs. We got lucky on the tow company too. They left the receipt on the front seat. I got a name..."

Norm looked at Lee. "Don't tell me, let me guess, "Lois Staas."

"Yep, I called our guys. I'm having it brought in to get the lab to take a look at it, just in case."

Even though it wasn't a surprise, it still was another repeat in the growing pattern. Plus, Norm thought, Steve would be very happy to have his prized Porsche returned."

"Have you been able to get a hold of the exterminator yet, Lee?"

"Nope, but that's next on the list," he said as he turned to leave. "By the way, I had a black and white roll past Steve's. No sign of the LTD and when they knocked, they got no response. I sent out the APB."

"Good, good," Norm replied absently, as he glanced first at the clock then back down at the report in his hand. He was about to pick up the phone to follow a hunch, when the phone rang.

"Homicide," Norm answered. Bill Tanner was on the other end of the line.

"Norm, maybe you should get down here. I think you might want to sit in on this interview with Bri Molen."


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: Once again I apologize for my pitiful foreign language skills, let me know if brutalized any more**_ _ **français.**_

 _Monday morning, just after 5:30 am._

Steve pulled up to the curb in front of an old home. He turned off the car and laid his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. He was sweating and panting like he had just run a marathon and was pretty sure if he had eaten anything in the last 12 hours, it would not have remained in his stomach long. He flexed his hands and noticed that his fingers felt like he had picked up a hot skillet. None of the symptom seemed too concerning to him, his brain just made note of them, like he was observing something happening to someone else.

He had no idea why he had come to this address, but he found he didn't really care. Because his arms and legs felt too heavy to lift at the moment, he decided that it was a good idea just to sit here and close his eyes for a minute or five.

Two men came out of the building and opened the car door. Steve knew they were there, but he didn't have the strength or the desire to fight back as they took him from the car. He opened his eyes when he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his arm, but he just as quickly closed them again. He heard a feminine voice talking, but could not understand what she was saying, or why she was talking to him.

When Steve came to himself again he was finally facing Lois Staas. What people had said about her was accurate. Now peering into those odd green eyes close up, he would never forget them. He had no idea how much time had passed.

"Welcome back, _mon adversaire_ _._ I see the atropine has done its job. You still might feel a little fuzzy mentally, but all of your other symptoms should be gone."

"What was it?" Steve asked quietly. He did in fact feel much better physically, although he still was not thinking altogether clearly. A tension headache that had nothing to do with the Doctor's little chemistry experiment was making its presence felt.

"Ah, ever the detective. It was a little cocktail I developed when I was working in France. We lost quite a few subjects before we got _c'est parfait_. A dose of sarin mixed with a _petit_ _gouttelette_ of LSD, delivered cutaneously."

"Nerve gas and acid absorbed through the skin." Steve proposed aloud, "What, the letter?"

"Yes, very good, inspector. Though the sarin was in liquid, not gaseous form. I've eliminated some of the more, let us say, unpleasant and messy symptoms. When administered by touch, it's rarely fatal. Makes people very compliant. They are physically incapacitated, but because the sarin helps speed the delivery of the LSD, they don't really care. All easily and quickly mitigated with a dose of atropine." She held up an empty syringe. "Along with the physical symptoms, it also causes a fair amount of confusion and poor decision making, but most important for this application, it make the subject very receptive to suggestion."

Steve couldn't argue that point. He had felt compelled to go to the address on the card. In addition, the fact that he found himself bound to a chair pointed to his incapacitated state under the effects of the drug. The military applications of this stuff were very, very scary, he though, but, while all this was fascinating in a James Bond spy-scenario kind of way, it was time to get to the point.

"Lady, can we please cut though the _merde_. Where's Mike? In the letters, you said once you had me, you'd let him go."

"Rest assured, he is here and very comfortable. I can guarantee he is currently feeling no pain. As to when he will be freed, it is all about the timing, Mr. Keller."

00000

 _Monday morning, 9:30 am_

Norm walked into the small interrogation room. Bri Molen sat opposite Bill. The Alameda Sherriff's deputy held up the far wall. Molen looked ill and had aged dramatically since he had seen her last. Norm had been surprised when he heard that she had been paroled, given the severity of her crimes. He now had an inkling of why.

"How long do you have?" Norm asked Molen.

"About a month or so, cancer. How did you know?"

"Lady, there was no way you were getting out of jail on kidnapping a law officer and accessory to murder unless you were dying."

"Yeah, I suppose so. Here's the deal. I'll give you John, call it penance for my transgressions. He's a worthless piece of work anyway and is probably involved in this business with Keller. He really loved his brother. That is the only good thing about him: he's as loyal as a German shepherd."

"But?" Norm asked. There was always a condition in these scenarios.

"But, stay away from Charles' daughter. She is the only decent thing that ever came out of this family. Very smart, very accomplished. She was raised by good people after her lowlife of a mother OD'd. I can't believe she would have anything to do with this."

Norm motioned Bill outside. "What do you think, Bill?"

"She seems pretty sincere, but I don't know, she could be covering for the girl to throw us off, to get back at Steve."

"That's what I'm thinking, but who knows."

"It would be quite a coup to get another one of the Alcatraz three back in custody, but finding Mike and now Steve is our only priority right now." Bill paused for a second, thinking. "Funny how impending death makes people do all sorts of things, isn't it. I do think we need to find out more about the daughter before we cut this deal." He stopped again. "I also think that this decision is way above our pay grade."

Norm nodded his head, "I agree but…" Norm grinned and pulled the sketch of Staas out of his pocket, "maybe we can eliminate the girl as a suspect right now."

The men reentered the room.

"Who's this?" Molen asked as Norm flattened out the paper on the desk.

"She's the main suspect in all of this, do you recognize her?" Norm watched her carefully to see if he could sniff out a deception.

"No, can't say that I've ever seen her."

Bill and Norm smiled. "So, she's not your niece?" Bill asked.

"No I didn't say that. I haven't seen my niece since she was an infant. I've kept tabs on her over the years, but I don't have any pictures."

 _Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn,_ Norm thought, _nothing is ever that easy._ "Do you happen to know what color her eyes are?"

Molen looked at Norm sideways. "That's an odd question?"

"Just answer him, _please_ , Mrs. Molen." Bill implored.

The dying felon thought for a moment. "Well, it's hard to tell when they're babies you know, but I seem to recall they were green, like her dad's."

Norm looked at Bill not really liking what he needed to do next, "I think we need to wake up the Captain and call the DA. Make her comfortable, Bill, this might take a while."

00000

Lee Lessing sat at his desk. It was midmorning now. He had checked out Steve's car when it came in and then left it in the custody of the lab boys. He cringed at the thought of Steve's baby being processed by the crime lab. S _teve would have a fit,_ he thought idly.

He looked at the list of leads that still needed to be tracked down. Dan was off checking out Lomarc, the company that owned the warehouse. Norm had the paperwork from the DoD on his desk and he and Bill were interviewing Bri Molen. Steve had picked up the doctor's personnel file from the hospital. _No help there,_ he though ruefully. All that was left was the father of one of the boys from Mission and the exterminator. _Eenie, Meenie, Minie, Mo._

He got up and went into Mike's office, copying down the contact information for the exterminator, figuring that it was a more direct line in the case. He refilled his coffee, went back to his desk and dialed the phone. Acme Exterminators _._ His mind wandered to a scene of a coyote dropping an anvil as the phone continued to ring. _Wile E. Coyote, super genius,_ popped into his head. He slammed down the phone after 20 rings and grabbed his sport coat, scrawling a note for Norm and putting it on Mike's desk. _I gotta stop watching cartoons with the kids_ , he though as he sped out of the office.

He pulled the green Galaxy up to the curb in front of Acme Exterminators. Several truck with large, dead cartoon bugs mounted on top were lined up alongside the building. _Somebody has a sick sense of humor_. He walked into the office and was greeted by a petite redhead, who was trying to wrangle multiple calls on a telephone that was ring insistently.

She held up one finger in an attempted to stall Lee as she punched multiple buttons on the phone between greetings. "Acme, please hold, Acme, please hold, Acme, please hold…"

She finally looked up at Lee, who was flashing his shield eye high. "What can I do for you officer?" she said apologetically, as the phone rang again, "Sorry, it's termite season, and I'm just a temp. Acme please hold."

"Can I see your boss?" Bill asked as the receptionist as she put the latest call on hold.

"Sorry, he's not here. That business with the dead guy in the warehouse really blew his mind. They are always so careful here about checking before they gas a building. He didn't know how it could have happen. It's actually why I'm here. His wife is the normal office manager, but she's home with him today."

 _Great,_ Lee thought. He looked at the mess of paperwork that covered the counter in front of the young woman. "Do you have the contact for that job around here anywhere?"

"Sure, I temp here every so often. I know where they keep the contacts." She said with a smile, as she attempted to neaten the jumble of documents in front of her. "Give me a second to clear the switchboard and I will get it for you."

Lee thanked the harried redhead and got out his note book. He paced the small area in front of the counter and noticed a clipboard mounted to the wall, next to a time clock. He walked over and saw it was the schedule for day. He pulled it down off the peg and copied the addresses and times on the schedule into his notebook. _Hey, she used this murder weapon once, maybe….._

Lee looked up when he heard the girl at the counter clear her throat loudly. "Sir?"

He walked over and thanked her for her time, "Can I keep this?" He asked taking the proffered document.

"Yeah, it a carbon," she said, apologizing for the quality, "but I think you can read all the information."

Lee looked down and smiled. _Pay dirt!_ He thought. The document had not only the name of the client, which he already expected, but the phone number and address as well. He half thought about asking the helpful young woman to use the phone and call it in, but reconsidered as it rang incessantly. He rushed out and threw the document on the seat, heading back to Bryant Street.

00000

Norm took the elevator up to Rudy's office. Bill had already called Gerry O'Brien and was now babysitting Bri Molen.

"What do you need Inspector, he told me to hold his calls and I think he's asleep. He looked like hell when he came in." The Captain's dutiful secretary said as she attempted to waylay the Armenian Detective.

"I know love, he was here all night. I'm the one who sent him up here. He was so tired he wasn't thinking straight. But I have to talk to him. It's really important." Norm gave her a tired smile. Only a little over two hours had passed since the Captain had retired to his office, but it had to be done. "Sorry," he added.

The secretary got up and poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Norm.

"Gee, thanks, how did you know I drink it black?

"It's not for you inspector," she said sarcastically, "peace offering for the boss, he's a bear when he doesn't get enough sleep."

She quietly rapped on the door and then opened it slowly. The Captain was stretched out on the couch, snoring slightly, sound asleep. She walked over and laid her hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly. He awoke with a start, looking bleary eyed at his secretary. He turned his head and his vision alit on Haseejian. "Did you find em, yet?" he blurted out, now fully awake.

"No, sir." Norm replied, "But we have another problem."

 _ **A/N: Rest assured the substance that I described does not exist. I just made it up after researching the properties of both sarin and LSD, although I wouldn't put it past any government to develop such a thing. I chose to combine those two substances because they were both available back in the seventies. It is true that both can be absorbed through the skin. The military even has a topical cream to treat such sarin exposure. Atropine is one of the traditional remedies for sarin. If administered promptly, (Within an hour or so) the exposure is generally not fatal. I did save Steve from some of the more unpleasant symptoms of sarin, like excessive drooling and loss of bowel and bladder control. I had to leave him with some dignity. MBC**_

 _ **PS If anybody works for the NSA, when they flag my browser history, let them know I'm not a terrorist, just an amateur author. LOL**_


	18. Chapter 18

Norm and Bill came back into the office. They had dropped the conundrum of Bri Mole in the capable hands of Gerry O'Brien and Captain Olsen.

"We got anything else to check out Norm?" Bill asked, now a little desperate.

Norm remember the DoD report he'd begun reading before he went down stairs. "Yeah, come on in the office."

After looking at the note that Lee left, he picked up the DoD report and summarized it for Bill.

"Marc Walen was drafted after he graduated. He went to boot camp with his buddy Ballinger and then shipped out to Nam that fall. Walen's outcome was not nearly as positive as Ballinger's. He got winged in a firefight near the Cambodian Border about 2 months into his tour. Not enough to send him home, but after that he got hooked on heroin. They dishonorably discharged him for dereliction of duty after 6 months. Sent him back to the states."

"Do we know what happened after that?" Bill asked

"Nothing from DoD."

"Well if he was hooked on smack when he came back, odds are he has a record. Why don't I see if he has a rap sheet while you look into the father?"

Norm agreed even though he knew it was a long shot. Right now he had nothing else to do, and as keyed up as he was, remaining idle was not an option. They had followed up every lead and they still were no closer to getting Mike and Steve back. He looked at his watch, it was nearly noon. Mike had been gone almost twenty hours, Steve coming on 7. He knew from experience that the longer they were missing, the less likely it was they would ever get them back.

He pulled Alec Walen's folder from the desk and read through the file. He had been sent to Danbury in Connecticut, the Fed's "country club" detention facility of choice for white collar criminals. He called information, got the number and dialed.

He quickly found out that the elder Walen had been paroled after serving only 6 months of his sentence. _Nice what money will buy you_ , Norm thought. He looked up the local department of corrections number and made the call, in hopes of finding if Walen was in the system and had parole officer. 20 minutes, a cup of coffee, multiple transfers and interminable minutes on holds later he had a name and number.

He was getting ready to dial when he saw Dan Healy come through the door. Norm put down the receiver and waved him into the office.

"Where the hell have you been for three hours?" Norm asked, still frustrated from his time on hold.

"Getting the run around at Lomarc."

"Anything useful?"

"Maybe." He pulled out his notebook. "From what I could glean, Lomarc is some kind of real estate holding company. They weren't very forthcoming, started squawking about lawyers and court orders. I did manage to find out one thing, the CEO is one Dr. Lois Staas.

"Jeez, big surprise. Explains where all the dough came from to organize this." Norm replied unimpressed.

Dan ignored the tone of Norm's comment, "The interesting thing is that she hasn't been in that position very long, only about a year after the last CEO died. The company was only founded about 6 months before that."

"Big company?"

"Sorta, they own over 200 commercial and residential properties in the Bay Area."

"That does not help us at all." Norm swore under his breath, "Mike and Steve could be anywhere."

00000

Steve closed his eyes. "So if you're not going to let Mike go, what's next Dr. Staas?"

"My, you are impatient, Steve. And please call me Lois. Seems appropriate, since we are going to end this together."

"Lady, you might be ready to exit, stage left, but I've got a lot more I want to do before I move on."

"Sorry you feel that way." Lois was irked at Steve's reluctance to see the damage that he had wrought. "You really don't deserve that chance after all the devastation you caused. Somebody has to pay."

"How do you figure that it's my fault? I was only doing my job, I didn't kill him."

"You set the dominos in motion, Steve. This cycle of misery began with you and now it's time to close the circle."

Lois motioned to Tony, who approached the chair, pointing Steve's own .38 at him. "Cuff him and bring him to the back room so he can join Lt. Stone," she said before rising. "Please don't do anything stupid, Steve." She added.

Tony handed Lois the .38 and stood in front of the chair. He bent down and cut loose the bindings on Steve's hands. Seeing that the thug now screened him from the business end of the weapon, and some what put out by Lois's last comment, Steve made a foolish grab for the knife Tony was using to sever the ropes.

He pushed himself up to a standing position with one hand, despite the fact that his legs were still bound to the chair. Steve's movement surprised his opponent and allowed him to momentarily wrest control of the knife from Tony. Unfortunately for Steve, Tony had leverage on his side and quickly regain the upper hand, pinning Steve back into the chair.

Seeing the struggle, Lois chastised Steve like a small child. "That was extremely ill-advised," she cooed, as she stepped around Tony and calmly fire the .38 into Steve's right shoulder.

"And here I was going to give you a fighting chance to save you friend. Now you have made your task so much more difficult." Lois looked at Steve's anguished expression and a small smile crossed her face. "Amazing," she said in a cold, clinical way, "after all the planning, plotting and waiting, I'm stunned at how satisfying it was just to shoot you. I really didn't expect that. I have enjoyed watching you suffer all your losses, but this was much better, more visceral and immediate. Interesting."

Steve sat in pained silence, too dumbfounded by her action and words to reply. Tony roughly cuffed Steve's hands behind his back, drawing a pain-filled gasp. Once his legs were cut free, Tony pulled him to his feet, eliciting another yelp.

The Doctor came forward and handed Tony the gun. She inspected Steve's shoulder. " _Douloureux_ yes, and it will certainly limit the use of your arm, but certainly not fatal. Escort our guest to the back room please, Tony."

Lois led the way. When they got to the end of the hall, Lois flipped a switch by the door before she opened it. When Tony shoved Steve inside, he saw Mike, out cold, bound and tethered to the wall. The sight of an unconscious Mike terrified him.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Steve shouted angrily.

"He is in no distress, Inspector." Lois answered, "Merely in a better place right now, courtesy of a steady supply of Valium." She looked at her watch. "He should be coming around shortly, best take care that he doesn't move too much, Steve. The results could be deadly."

Steve struggled as much as his injured body allowed him to. Tony shoved him to the floor and padlocked the cuffs to a ring attached the wall on the other side of the room.

"Tony, let's make this fair. Uncuff his right hand please."

Tony looked at her sideways. She shot his nonverbal question down with a glare.

"There. Now the ball is, as they say, in your court. If you wish to save your friend. All you need to do is remove the wire from the bowl and _voila_ , the danger of explosion is gone. Steve followed Lois's eye to a large metal basin filled with some kind of liquid. It was halfway between him and Mike, currently out of reach of both. There was a wire clipped to the rim of the bowl. It travelled from the bowl, wrapped around Mike and then traveled up to the ceiling. From there it draped to a switch on the door."

"Don't tell me, let me guess, ether." Steve said flatly.

"My, aren't you the clever one!" Lois stated in a tone usually reserved for an obedient pet or a small child. "Yes, Steve. One little spark and well, I guess you know what happens."

Steve shook his head. "You are certifiable, lady. Who thinks up stuff like this?"

"Oh you flatter me. But to tell you the true, this is what I used to get paid for, to think up stuff just like this."

Steve just shook his head.

"One more thing Steve, not only will too much pull on the trip wire on Mike's part provide the spark, opening the door will set it off as well, so, don't expect any help from the outside." She reached around and reactivated the switch by the door. She was about to follow Tony out, but turned to face Steve once more.

"You know, one of the things that made me a superb research scientist was my dedication to redundant systems. It seems we have been having lots of trouble with vermin in this neighborhood, so I scheduled to have the whole place fumigated at 3:30 pm. You have till then to reason this out or I'm afraid the Lieutenant will join you on your fatal journey."

00000

Captain Olsen entered the bull pen with Gerry O'Brien on his heels. Norm came out of Mike's office.

"What's the word gentlemen?"

"I can't tell if she's handing us a load of bull or what but we did get one concession." the Captain reported in a satisfied tone.

"WHAT?" Norm asked impatiently.

"She gave us a name. Loraine Silving, lives or lived in Atlanta. We told her if we can get her picture from Georgia DMV and it doesn't match our suspect, she got a deal."

While Norm was happy with the result, A DMV photo telexed from Georgia could take an hour or more. _More time we don't have._

The phone rang on Mike's desk. Norm turned and jogged into the office. Bill was on the other end.

"That was quick, what do you got?" Norm asked.

"Well, you can eliminate Marc Walen."

"Why is that?"

"He's dead, OD'd about 13 months ago. They found him not too far from the warehouse where Mumau died. Seems mommy didn't take to her junkie son too well. With dad in jail, she kicked him out. From what the narcotics guys told me, Mumau kind of kept an eye on the kid when they were both on the streets, thought it was his duty to a fellow soldier."

Norm picked up the folder and dropped it on the floor on top of the Ballinger file. He looked at the desk's dwindling possibilities. Some thing was still missing.

Norm hung up the phone and dialed the number for Brad Combs, Alec Walen's parole officer. After several rings the phone was picked up by a harried sounding voice.

"Combs, talk."

"And a very good afternoon to you, Mr. Combs," Norm greeted, "This is Haseejian, SFPD Homicide.

"Sorry, Haseejian, I'm late for a client meet and the phone has been ringing off the hook. Can this wait?"

"No, it can't. I got two officers missing and I'm running out of leads."

"OK, just give me a minute," Norm heard a muffled conversation in the background and then Combs returned to the phone. "Who you looking for?"

"Alec Walen III"

"Guy who got sent to Danbury. He was a real novelty for me, you know. I don't get many blue blood clients, if you know what I mean."

Norm was in no mood for small talk. "You got an address on him?"

"Um, sure, somewhere on Nob Hill, as I recall." Norm heard a file drawer open and rustling papers. "Oh, wait I remember this one, now."

"Come on Combs, This is kinda on a short fuse."

"Cypress Lawn. His current address is Cypress Lawn Memorial Park."

"He's dead?"

"Yep," Norm heard some more paper shuffling, "Offed himself after his kid OD'd. I guess you can cross him off your list."

Norm was stunned. He thanked Combs for his time and picked Alec Walen's folder and dropped it on the stack with his son's and Ballinger's on the floor. He looked at the clock. The telex from Georgia could not come soon enough.

Lee entered the bull pen. He walked into Mike's office and saw Norm hanging up the phone. Norm looked up, remembering the note, he asked, "What did you get at the exterminators?"

"Nothing much," Lee said with a smile. "Just the home address of our prime suspect."

"No, shit?"

"Yep, it was on the contact."

Norm grabbed his suit coat from the back of the chair and was headed out the door before Lee could say another word. He called for Bill and Dan on his way, Lee trailing behind.

"What's the rush?" Bill asked grabbing his coat.

"We have Staas' home address."


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: In this chapter, I've brutalized another foreign language, mea culpa.**_

Steve stared at Mike, gratified that Lois had at least left the lights on. That was until he looked into the corner of the room. A large video camera was mounted just below the ceiling. Lois intended to watch the drama of the locked room play out in living black and white. Steve had read about the efficacy of closed circuit systems, ballyhooed as the new age of policing in the press, but this was the first time he had ever seen one of the cameras. He wondered idly if it was picture only or if the doctor could hear was going on as well.

Steve tried to move his right arm and quickly decided that might be problematic. His shirt, now crimson and damp, covered a joint that seemed unwilling or unable to follow the directions his brain was sending it. He tentatively tried to put weight the arm, attempting to push his body closer to the accelerant filled bowl, but gave up as the ensuing agony robbed him of his breath and nearly his consciousness.

He heard some gentle rustling and looked toward Mike, who was giving indications of stirring from his Valium induced nap.

"Mike, come on Mike, open up your eyes for me," Steve said with as much serenity as he could muster. He needed Mike to wake gently.

"Steve?" Mike said weakly, opening his eyes briefly and shifting his position to look towards his partner,

Steve's first instinct was to shout a warning, but he stifled his fear and calmly coaxed his friend. "Michael, this is really, really important, Don't Move. Do you hear me, Mike, DON'T MOVE."

Mike didn't respond. He was still toeing the boundary between dreams and reality.

Mike shifted again, panicking Steve. "Please Mike, I need to see those baby blues, LOOK AT ME. Come on sleepy head," Steve pleaded, hoping the silly sobriquet that Mike had used on him numerous times would strike a chord, "WAKE UP but _please. please, please_ don't move."

Mike opened his eyes again, but Steve could see that he still wasn't with him. Steve lowered his head and momentarily gave into the pain and fear that were battling to overwhelm his reason. If he couldn't alert Mike to his precarious position, he had no idea what to do next.

Steve was spent and he needed his partner. Not just to help him solve the puzzle of the locked room, but to bolster his flagging spirit. Lois really knew what she was doing when she snatched Mike. The past 24 hours were the longest of his life. In his mind, having his partner at his side was as necessary as breathing.

Steve allowed himself to wallow in self-recrimination. God, this was all his fault. Mike could die and it was all his fault. Steve knew he took what he had for granted. He and Mike were together every day and sometimes Mike infuriated him, but he could not picture his life without him. If something happened to Mike because of him, it wouldn't matter what happened to him anymore.

In that moment, he had a brief insight into Lois' mania. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He didn't want to feel sorry for her.

"Buddy boy?"

Unsure if he'd imagined the words he so desperately wanted to hear, Steve looked up.

Welcome back, Mike," Steve said with as much of a smile as he could muster. Steve looked into Mike's eyes. "Do me a favor, don't move, ok. It would be bad."

Despite the fact that Mike's eyes were lively once again, he still wasn't sure how much information was penetrating his partner's brain. He repeated his warning. "You got that, Mike, stay as still as you can."

Mike looked closely at Steve, moderately confused. His eyes widened when they alit on the large sanguine stain blooming on Steve's shirt, "What'd I miss?"

Steve laughed out loud, then winced as the motion jostled his mangled joint.

"Oh, nothing much," he said through teeth clenched in pain, "a crazy doctor, a locked room, looming cyanide poisoning, explosive booby traps, you know, just your average day in the City by the Bay."

"Very funny, wise guy," Mike replied, becoming more and more alert as the minutes wore on. "Seriously Steve, what's the situation?"

"Seriously Mike, a crazy doctor, a locked room, looming cyanide poisoning, and explosive booby traps," Steve repeated. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, groaning, "Oh, yeah and the wacko chick put a bullet in my shoulder, because I was a bad boy. I can't move my arm."

Mike knew he wasn't thinking 100% straight, but Steve's words made no sense. "How about if you take if from the top." He said. "Slowly this time."

Steve took a deep breath. "What do you remember, Mike?"

"Your funeral, then nothing… no wait…" Mike thought hard, "Oh yeah, the woman with the strange green eyes and something about ether and explosions." He shook his head as if to clear the static in his thinking, "Everything is kinda fuzzy right now. How long have I been out?"

Steve looked down at his watch. "Over 20 hours at this point, but we've got more pressing problems then missing memories. If I don't get you out of here in, um, 2 hours, then you will join me in my journey across the river Styx, via the good ship cyanide. The doctor has schedule the building to be gassed at 3:30"

"What do you mean get _me_ out, hotshot, this is about getting _us_ out." Mike insisted.

"Steve tilted his head in the direction of the camera, "I don't think she is going to let that happen, we're being watched.

Mike looked at the camera. "Is that one of those new-fangled observation cameras?"

"Yeah, I think so Mike. Whatever happens, I think it's safe to say I'm not getting out of here alive.

"We'll just see about that, buddy boy. What time is the exterminator coming, again?"

"3:30. You sure you're ok Mike?"

"Yeah, sure, never better…" Mike trailed off, grasping at a stray thought in his fractured thinking, "Hey wait, won't the exterminator check the building?"

"Oh God, I hope not, you and the door are wired. If you move too much or someone opens the door without disabling the contact switch, well let's just say we won't need big fancy caskets like the one she bought me, cigar boxes will probably do."

Mike looked down, finally noticing the wire that wound around his chest and followed it to the bowl and the door with his eyes, swallowing hard. "OK, got it, no moving." He stared again at Steve injured shoulder, "How about you, can you use your hands at all?"

Steve looked at his right arm, laying useless in his lap, and then yanked on the cuff linking his left hand to the wall in frustration. "That would be no. My feet aren't tied, but I don't see how that does us any good."

"How much do Norm and the boys know?"

Steve thought about how much time had passed. "I honestly can't say Mike. We found out that Lois was the one who signed the death certificate. She works in the hospital Morgue. That I was even there in the ER on Thursday night was because of her. She arranged the whole thing in the alley.

Mike let out a low whistle. "That's quite a set up."

"Tell me about it. She's been one step ahead the whole time. So last night, when I went to the hospital to get Dr. Staas' personnel file we still had a lot of question marks, but the guys never got to see the file. They have had quite a bit of time to follow up the other leads, though. I really don't know if they figured it out or not. Damn, I just hope Norm doesn't come storming in here and blow this place to next week."

"They didn't get to see the file? Why the heck didn't you take it back to Bryant Street?" Mike asked with more regret than anger, "Hold on, you came here by yourself? That's a rookie move, buddy boy and you know it. You're better than that."

Steve was not in the mood for a lecture and responded with a raised voice. "I didn't have a choice Mike, she dosed a letter she left for me with Sarin and LSD. I didn't know what I was doing." Steve left out the part where he went down to the morgue by himself to look for Lois. Mike would bust him for that soon enough, if he ever got the chance.

They sat without talking for several minutes.

"Sarin and LSD, nerve gas huh?"

"Yeah, she's a real nut job, Mike. A bona fide mad scientist. MD, PHD, scary smart. She worked at a military lab in France before they sent her packing for ethics violations, from what I read in her file. Came back to the states two years ago."

"So what's the connection to you?" Mike asked.

Steve's eyes drooped closed and he went quite. While Mike's level of awareness was on the rise, Steve had started to drift from a combination of pain, blood lose, exhaustion and guilt, his adrenaline store long depleted. "I'm sorry Mike, this is all my fault." Steve said quietly, his voice waning as his slipped closer towards oblivion.

"STEVE!" Mike called with a loud voice, attempting to rouse his partner, "Don't you dare quit on me. We WILL figure this out, but first you need to explain to me how any of this is YOUR fault."

00000

Norm and Dan pulled up in front of Lois Staas' Washington Street address. Bill and Lee were in their own green Galaxy, just behind. Two black and whites screamed in from the opposite direct. Norm gathered everyone up at the curb.

"Listen guys, we don't have a clue about what we have here. Mike and Steve may be inside, maybe not. What we do know is this woman has already booby-trapped one building and she has access to a pretty heavy duty explosive, so easy does it. Dan and I will go in the front, Bill and Lee, take two of the uniforms and go round the back. Wait for my signal. If nobody answers the door, we're going in anyhow but keep your eyes open for wires. If you see anything suspicious we'll have to get the bomb squad over here to sweep the building."

Lee was about to argue the point, but Norm cut him off. "Listen, I know we all want to find the guys, but we won't do them or us any good if we blunder into an explosion."

Norm and Dan walked up to the front door and rang the bell as the other officers got into position. After a few anxious minutes the door cracked open and small Hispanic women peered out. "Sorry, _Senora Staaa n_ _o está en el hogar."_

Great Norm though, Dan jumped in, " _Habla inglés?"_

When the woman answered in the negative, Norm waited while Dan continued on in Spanish. Finally, he turned to Norm and related the conversation.

"This is Mrs. Alverez, the housekeeper. She said that her boss is not home but it's ok if we come in and look around." That was stretching the truth. Dan had to make a few inferences to La Migra in the conversation before she agreed.

They entered the home and made a cursory look around, opening the back door for the other officers when they got to the rear of the house.

"You guy's take the upstairs, we'll check the basement."

Dan and Norm were retracing their steps through the house to the cellar door, trailed by the housekeeper, when Dan noticed a picture on a side table. Picking it up, he stopped and got Norm's attention. "Norm, this is a picture of the dead CEO of Lomarc."

He was putting it back down when it was snatched out of his hands by a now teary and combative woman, babbling in rapid Spanish and blessing herself repeatedly.

"Wait, Senora Alverez, slow down, _ás despacio por favor"_

She continued on excitedly, but at a much slower pace. Shock registered on Dan's face as he related the information to Norm. "This is our good doctor's late husband. She's so upset because of the way he died. He killed himself. Lois Staas was married to Alexander Walen III.

Norm stood in stunned silence. Now it all made sense.

"Gracias, Senora Alverez," Dan said as they went to open the basement door, but the small woman got in front of them and barred their entry, screaming hysterically. "Senora Staas say _no poderse,_ NEVER go in basement!"

 _ **A/N: The earliest recorded use of CCTV technology goes back to 1946. The technology was implemented in public buildings and train stations in New York and London as early as 1969. The early systems were strictly live-feed monitoring systems. The technology to easily record the images (VCR) did not come along till at least the mid to late 70's and was not widely available until the 1980's.**_

 _ **La Migra is a slang term for immigration officials commonly used in California. (And other places I'm sure)**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: So we all know why. (Although I'm sure you figured it out long ago, I left a ton of breadcrumbs, the biggest being the name of the holding company**_ Lomarc _ **. LOis the wife and MARC the son.) Now let's see if we can get our boys home… Thanks again for your reviews and readership. I'm glad I'm amusing somebody other than myself, cause if I was amusing just me, well that would be weird, sad and a little creepy. LOL**_

Norm looked at the hysterical woman and then back to Dan. Dan spoke to Mrs. Alverez in rapid Spanish while Norm called upstairs for the officers to head back down. "Bill, go out and get on the radio, call the bomb squad and then clear the houses on either side. Use the cruisers to block off the street. I don't know what we have in the basement, but I'm not taking any chances. Alert the fire department as well. If this place goes up, we're going to need them yesterday.

When Norm came back, Dan had managed to calm the housekeeper. They escorted her out of the house. After that came the most horrible part of the job, in Norm's opinion, waiting. The officers were leaning up against their vehicles when the explosives team pulled up.

"What have we got Haseejian?"

"I don't have a clue Dave, but I don't want to take chances. He quickly filled the expert in on the information they had about the owner of the house and her proclivities.

"Ok, Norm, we'll take a look. You already evacuate the adjacent homes?" Dave said as he and his team suited up in their protective gear.

"Yep, you are good to go."

"Maybe you guys should head across the street as well. We can't be too careful."

"You don't have to ask me twice," Norm replied as he shooed the remaining three detectives across the street.

Time crept forward at a tortuous pace. Dan was sure his watch had stopped as he checked it multiple times. Lee paced like a restless animal until the front door finally opened.

Norm was grinding out a cigarette on the pavement when Dave exited the building. "All, clear guys, but you need to take a look at what's down there. Who the hell lives here?"

Norm, Bill, Lee and Dan entered the home and made their way down the steps. One of the bomb techs was securing a box full of material for transport.

"What do you got?" Lee asked.

"Well, we found enough diethyl ether peroxide to blow up half the block." Lee gave the man a slightly panicked look. "Don't worry, we got that out of here already." Lee immediate relaxed. "What's more troubling…" the tech continued.

"Whoa, it gets worse?" Lee interrupted.

"Sorry, it does. We have a dozen empty containers that held the same stuff, plus all the electronics to rig up one hell of a surprise for someone. No bomb here, but somebody is cooking up something big somewhere."

After digesting the seriousness of the find, Lee turned around to see what had so transfixed the other detectives.

"Damn, looks like the invasion plans for Normandy," Bill said, shaking his head. Spread about the desk and the walls was a detailed timeline for the assault on all things Steve Keller.

"He never had a chance," Norm added, "This is one twisted chick."

Dan walked over and traced the timeline to its conclusion.

 **Monday, November 12, 1974 3:30 pm -** _ **s'achever en apothéose**_

"What do you think that means?" Dan asked.

Norm looked at his watch. He couldn't read French but was pretty sure that whatever the doctor had planned, the grand finale was scheduled for just under 2 hours from now. "Nothing good. I think it means we better figure out where the hell she's got them stashed or…"

He didn't have to finish his thought, they all knew the implications at the end of that particular road.

"Bill, you and Dan start going through this stuff, and call the crime lab. I don't think they're going to find anything useful fast enough, but stranger things have happened. Lee and I will go over to Lomarc to see if we can get a list of the properties this bitch owns."

00000

Steve opened his eyes in response to the urgency in Mike's voice. "I'm up _mom,_ but I don't wanna go to school."

"Very funny, wiseguy." Mike smiled, gratified that Steve still had enough fight in him to make comic remarks. "I tell you what, when we get out of here, I'll write you a note to give to your teacher. But tell me honestly Steve, how're doing over there."

Steve was going to give his patented, _I'm fine_ response, but frankly he knew he wasn't fine, and so did Mike. "Can I tell you something, Mike? Getting shot in the shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch. I'm tired, thirsty, chained to a wall and I really, really need to take a leak. Are you happy now, I told the truth. Where did that get us?"

"Well at least it got your eyes open. Now how do we get out of here?"

"That's the 64 dollar question, isn't it? Hey, maybe if we say the secret word, the duck will come down and give us $100 dollars and a way out!" He said the last bit a la Groucho Marx, on _You Bet Your Life_.

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Too much?" Steve said with smile. "Seriously Mike, she told me that I had a fighting chance to get _you_ out of here, and despite the fact that she is a crazed psychopath, she hasn't lied to us once. So there's got to be a way."

"I'm all ears, boy wonder. You got anything tucked into that utility belt of yours to help us out of this one?"

"No, Mike, and if I'm the boy wonder, that makes me the sidekick, doesn't it? That means you, Kemosabe, need to come up with the plan, not me."

"So now I'm the Lone Ranger, huh?"

"You got it boss. Me just faithful Indian companion." Steve said with mock humility.

They both started to snicker. "You know this is not helping, Steve," Mike said laughing harder.

"I know Mike, but if you gotta go, you might as well go out laughing." As he said it, Steve thought, _he's done it again_ ; this is exactly what he would miss if Mike was gone from his life, the easy camaraderie and gentle encouragement that made the worst situations bearable. Mike gave him the courage to go on. Suddenly Steve sobered. Mike quieted as well.

"In case I don't a chance to say it later, Michael, it's been an honor to…" Steve had to stop, now too choked up to go on.

"You better stop that right now, buddy boy. We are going to get out of this."

"Whatever you say, Mike." Steve said staring at Mike.

They sat in silence, peering around the room.

"Anything?" Mike asked.

Steve looked at his partner. "I don't even know where to begin." Steve replied. "For the sake of argument, you got anything on you?"

"I'm pretty sure they took everything we could use, all I have left is a pen."

Steve looked over again and saw the writing implement poking out of Mike's shirt pocket. It was unusual to see him sans his customary wardrobe, "What happened to your coat, vest and jacket? Mike, where's your hat?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know, I was unconscious at the time. It's not like I keep a spare handcuff key in the band. You got anything?"

"No, I got nothing," Steve looked back at the pen. "Say Mike, um, is there any way to get that pen over to me?"

"Without getting us blown up?"

"That would be yes, without getting us blown up."

"Maybe. Why?"

"I might just have an idea."

"Anything you care to share with the class?"

"I'll be happy to, if it works. Let's see if you can get the pen over here first."

00000

Norm strode up to the receptionist at Lomarc, Inc.

"How may I help you, sir?" The pretty blonde receptionist asked.

Norm flashed his badge. "I need information." He said with a threat in his voice. He was done playing games.

The young lady swallowed hard, "Let me call the office manager."

"I'm sorry, Sir. But if you want that information, you'll have to get a court order.

Norm's blood pressure was in the danger zone. He wiped his forehead, clearing the sweat which had collected while talking to the recalcitrant office manager. "Sir, I have two people whose lives may depend on the information you can give me. Your boss, Dr. Staas is a sick, sick woman. She's holding two of my very good friends, two POLICE OFFICERS hostage as we speak. I'm going to appeal to you as a good citizen and human being to give me the list of properties you hold." Norm lowered his voice and spoke in a pleading tone, "Honestly sir, if I have wait for a court order, they will more than likely die in the interim."

Norm's tone seemed to resonate with the man, "Suzie, give the officer what he needs."

Armed with 10 pages of addresses, Norm joined Dan in the Galaxy.

"Any Luck?"

"Yeah," Norm answered dejectedly, "Too much." He said as he handed the list of 200 plus buildings to Dan. Dan looked at his watch. They were running out of time.

00000

Mike leaned his head down, careful not to pull on the wires. Steve held his breath as Mike grabbed the pen between his teeth.

10 feet separated the two men. Mike closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He turned his head left and carefully rotated it back toward Steve, releasing the pen at the apogee of the arc. Steve watched as the pen sailed in his general direction, falling several feet short and wide of his position.

Mike let out a tense breath. "How'd we do?"

"Great, Mike, just great."

Steve pulled against the hand cuff, laying flat on his back and extended his body toward the pen.

"Warm or cold Mike?" He asked, groping blind for the pen with his feet.

"What do you mean warm or cold?"

"Geez, didn't you ever play this with Jeannie? Warm or cold, am I close or far away from the pen."

"Close, about foot short and to the left."

"Then WARM, am I getting warmer or colder," Steve said, moving his foot. He groaned as the motion jostled the bullet in his shoulder.

"What the hell are you talking about Steve? You are getting farther away."

"Then colder. Warm means close, cold means father away. Warm or Cold. Work with me, Mike"

"That's stupid, Steve, why don't I just say close or far."

"I don't know, it's a game Mike," Steve said as his foot made contact with the pen.

He dragged the pen in close to his body, leaning down to clutch it between his teeth. He tilted his head toward the wall and grabbed the pen with his cuffed hand, panting from the exertion.

After catching his breath, Steve sat up and swung his feet toward his hand. He pinned the pen against the wall with one foot and pulled the metal clip with his cuffed hand. After a few tries he managed to break it off. The pen dropped to the floor as he grasped the precious shim. Steve took a moment and rested his head against the wall.

"Ok, hotshot. What was that all about?"

"Mike, did I ever tell you how I earned beer money when I was in the academy?"

Steve leaned over and grabbed the flat metal clip with his teeth, attempting to jam the other end into the ratcheting mechanism on the handcuff. In his haste, he missed the cuff and the clip fluttered to the floor. Steve growled in frustration.

"Easy, Steve," Mike intoned calmly. I see where you're going. You can do this, Try again.

After several grimace-inducing body contortions, Steve once again had the clip between his teeth.

"Easy, easy, easy," Mike repeated as he willed Steve on.

After a few more false tries, the cuff finally gave way. Steve flexed his hand and took a deep breath. "I can't believe that actually worked."

Mike breathed a sigh of relief. "Someday you're going to have to tell me about your ill-spent youth, my friend."

 _ **A/N:**_ You Bet Your Life _ **was a quiz show that aired on the radio and in the early day of television in the US. It was hosted by Groucho Marx and ran until 1960. The show was less about prizes and more about Groucho's interaction with everyday people. It was hilarious and was rerun in syndication well into the 70's in the US. If the contestants said the secret word, a duck, with a mustache and cigar would drop down from the ceiling and give them a monetary prize of 100 dollars.**_

 _ **It's totally amazing what you can find on the internet. Do a google search on getting out of handcuffs. The method described above is totally legit.**_


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: I'm starting to feel the "it's almost over" mix of relief and sadness. Thanks to everybody who has come along on**_ Steve and Mike's Excellent Adventure. _ **A special thanks to**_ _ **EKWTSM9**_ _ **for a certain movie reference and to everyone who has reviewed. I hope to get to everybody after the conclusion. Without further ado…**_

Steve looked over to Mike. "Give me a minute and I'll get you loose." He knew Lois was aware of their little escape attempt and was waiting for the door to open, quite surprised it hadn't already.

He thought about standing up to affect his rescue of Mike, but gave it up as unadvisable. He was already dizzy and didn't fancy falling on his face and setting off the ether. He scooted over to the basin. "First things first, Mike."

"Do you know what you're doing buddy boy? "

"God I hope so, or this will be the shortest rescue attempt in history. I'm pretty sure I just need to detach the wire and separate it from the accelerant. After that, the switch on the door and the wire around you won't matter anymore."

"You sure?"

"Um, no but you got a better idea?"

"Not really. Can you do it with your left hand?"

"We will see, won't we? Hey Mike, a little divine intervention would be helpful right now. You got pull with the man upstairs, right?"

"I think the fact that you just undid a handcuff with your teeth and a pen clip is proof enough, don't you?"

"Very true. Here goes."

"Steve, do me one favor. Hold your breath while you're messing around with the ether. We can't have you passing out now, can we?"

"Good point Mike." Steve mimicked the serious voice from every training film he had ever seen. "Safety tip: Do not breathe in fumes from the giant vat of ether."

"Can you be serious for a minute?"

"Why should I start now, this whole set up is straight out of the _Perils of Pauline."_

Steve took in a deep breath and held it while he studied the container. He pinched the simple alligator clip and released the wire, being careful not to scratch metal on metal lest he cause a spark. He slipped the clip into his pocket and coiled up the wire a on his lap, sidling towards Mike on his backside, finally releasing the air from his lungs. "That should do it."

Steve slid up next to Mike and looped the wire over his head. He tossed the coil to the furthest point in the room. With the danger of immolation mitigated for the moment, he leaned against Mike, laying his forehead on the older man's shoulder. Reassured by Mike's sturdy presence, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Hey Mike, it's good to see you."

"Same to you, buddy boy, same to you."

Now that Steve was up close, Mike could see the depleted state of his young friend "You sure you're ok, Steve?"

"No, but I will be once you're out of here. Let's get you lose."

It was easier said than done. Steve slipped behind Mike and struggled with a shaking left hand, repeating his shim trick with Mike's handcuffs. "What's happening Steve?" Mike asked nervously as the minutes wore on. It took several tries, but ultimately he heard the small metallic sound of success. Mike pulled his arms forward, dropping the cuffs and stretching gratefully. He moaned slightly as the pins and needles sensation of returning circulation gave way to a dull ache. Between the two of them, they eliminated the ropes on Mike's feet as well.

Mike stood up awkwardly on wobbly legs, stretching out the stiffness of 20 plus hours of inactivity.

"You know Steve, I'm getting way too old for this kind of nonsense."

Considering what they had just avoided, albeit temporarily, Steve couldn't help but reply, "Well it's better than the alternative, isn't it?"

Mike shook his head and reached down to help Steve, "You bout ready to get up off that floor, hot shot?" Mike grabbed Steve's good arm and hoisted him into a standing position, eliciting a string of expletives from his young protégé. Steve swayed slightly but regained his balance with the help of Mike's hand on his back.

"Thanks, Mike, I think," Steve said, trying to manage the overwhelming pain. "Now what?"

Mike reached into his pocket, surprised to find he still had his handkerchief. He took it out and tried slipped it under Steve's shirt. The wound had pretty much stopped bleeding, but the tender action was not lost on Steve. "Thanks, Mike, but I have a better idea. Give me the handkerchief and then stand between me and the camera."

Steve took a deep breath and held it. He bent down and dipped the corner of the handkerchief into the ether. He carefully wrapped the dry section around the wet and stuffed it into his pocket. "You never know when something like this will come in handy."

Mike looked at his watch. It was already past 3. "We need to get a move on."

00000

Bill, Lee, Norm and Dan gathered around Mike's desk. The files which had occupied the space were gone, neatly stacked on a chair, replaced by 10 pages of addresses. An hour had passed since they'd left Dr. Staas' home.

"How are we going to cover all of this real estate in an hour Norm? It's hopeless." Bill's comments echoed the thoughts of the other 3 men. "Even if we split it up, there's just too many locations. We'd need 50 guys to check it all out in an hour. Hell, 50 might not even be enough."

Norm rubbed his tired eyes. The freshness that 5 hours of sleep had bought him was long gone and no amount of coffee could bring it back. "Can anybody figure out a way to filter this list? We have to eliminate some of these sites."

"How about if we retrace the case. Maybe we can figure out something. There's just no way to check these all out in time." Dan went out to Steve's desk and picked up the case file while Bill retrieved the associated folders from the chair.

"Ok. Steve and Mike saw the Obit on Friday morning, but the plot starts at the warehouse with Terry Mumau on Thursday."

"No wait Dan, it starts a year before that, when Staas arranged Steve's funeral," Bill interjected.

"Right, we will get back to that. The exterminator brought him into the hospital at…" Dan stopped as he looked up the time from the hospital record, "3pm." He died in the ER about ten, which was just about when Mike and Steve got there. We know they were setup in the alley. Rossi told Steve that when we he saw her in lockup. Staas was working at the hospital, switched the id on the body and declared Steve dead."

Norm shook his head impatiently, "I don't see that this is getting us anywhere."

"Not yet, but let's keep going. The doctor shows up at the funeral on Sunday. Mike follow's her out the door and gets snatched. We have a rag soaked in ether, more than likely it was used to knock Mike out."

Bill stopped Dan, "Do we have the coroner's report on Mumau there?"

"Yeah, what do what to know?" Dan said flipping through the folder.

"Was there any trace evidence on the body?"

Dan read silently, "Um, yeah, it says here they found ether all over the victim's clothes. What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking she's new at the murder game and is a creature of habit. She's used ether twice to incapacitate people. She had the warehouse wired and we have evidence she has set up another, more deadly trap. What if she intends to use the same murder weapon with Mike and Steve?"

"What, death by exterminator?" Norm asked.

"Why not?"

Lee had been quiet during the whole exchange, but suddenly had an idea.

"Hey guys, I might just have a way to narrow down this address list."

The three detectives gaped at Lee.

"Give" Norm Bellowed as Lee took out his notebook and flipped through the pages, arriving at the list of address he'd copied earlier in the day.

"I was waiting for the receptionist in the exterminator's office and I copied the list of today's jobs, what do you think?"

"I think if this pans out, you need to ask Mike for a raise." Norm grinned and slapped the detective on the back. "Let's divide up the list. Lee, read off the address so we can get through this in a hurry. Start with the end of the schedule, the timeline said 3:30."

Lee started reading the addresses in reverse order while the other men scanned their section of the list, ultimately coming up with 4 addresses. It was 2:30 pm.

"Lee call the exterminator and see if they can recall their people." Norm looked at his watch. "It won't be any help unless they have radios on their trucks, but it's worth a try. After that, we need to split up. Dan, you and Lee take these two sites, Bill and I will take the others. Get a cruiser for backup, we'll do the same. She has 2 guys acting as muscle, so be careful. I'll call Dave and put the bomb squad on alert. Stop the exterminators from tenting the houses first. Then, just like before, don't go in if you see anything hinky. You find anything, call. You hear me. This lady's bonkers."

00000

Mike walked over to the door and tried the knob. "You're not gonna believe this. It's open."

"At this point, I'll believe anything Mike."

"You know she's watching us."

"Yep, but what do we have to lose." Steve was quiet and then added, "You think we should split up? Might improve our chances."

Mike slowly opened the door, revealing a deserted, black hallway. "Maybe, but we have to get down this hallway first, doesn't look like there's another way out back here." Mike led the way into the darkened hall. Steve kept his hand on Mikes back, unwilling to break contact with him as they made their way towards the front of the house.

They tried the doors on the hall, but all were locked. The house seemed unnaturally dark and quiet. San Francisco, like most cities, had an ambient sound: traffic, human and automotive. It was akin to a heartbeat. The lack of sound meant they were either out of the city or the house was muffled in some way. Steve vaguely remembered driving to the house. _Was it in the city?_ He had been too stoned to remember.

When they reached the parlor, Mike stopped suddenly causing Steve to run headlong into his back. They heard a mirthless laugh accompanied by the subtle metallic click caused by the cylinder of a 38 special being locked into place. Lois was ensconced in the large arm chair that Steve had been tied to. A reading lamp on a small end table emitted a feeble amount of light, giving the scene a haunted house look. She held Steve's police special aimed directly at Mike.

"Nicely done gentlemen. I knew you two were quite the team but I had no idea how resourceful you could be. It's actually very impressive."

Steve's shivered and swore under his breath. "So Lois, I lived up to my end of the bargain, you promised to let him go."

"So I did Steve, but we have two problems."

"And what would they be Dr. Stass?" Mike asked before Steve had a chance.

"Well, first if I let you go free, you will just turn right around and try to get Steve out, and we can't have that."

Steve looked at Mike, who nodded and shrugged his assent. "I suppose, but I have to ask, what's the second reason?"

"It seems I underestimated the Lieutenant's importance to you, Steve. More correctly, your importance to one another. What a tender scene in there! I couldn't hear what you said, but I'm an excellent judge of body language. I now see if I let Mike go, you would die in peace, knowing you saved him. We can't have that."

They heard the muted sound of a generator starting somewhere outside.

"Have a seat, it won't be long."


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: Just a quickie before la grande finale.**_

Lee dialed the phone. "Acme Exterminators, please hold." He recognized the voice of the temporary receptionist.

Lee looked at his watch and tapped impatiently on the desk. "Acme Exterminators, this is Gloria, how can I help you?"

"Gloria, this is Lee Lessing. I was in your office earlier today. I wonder if you can help me out?"

"The police officer?"

"Yep."

"Sure, what can I do for you?"

"Tell me, by any chance are your trucks radio dispatched?"

"Yeah, it's a funny thing, the guy who owns Acme is all over new gadgets. That's how he advertises in the yellow pages."

Lee looked skyward and thanked the heavens for technology. "Gloria, this is really, really important. I need you to get on the radio and stop these jobs." He listed the addresses.

"Can you tell me why?"

"No, not right now. It's just really, really important."

"I probably should call the boss, but if it'll stop a repeat of what happened the other night, I'm know he'll be ok with it. So, sure, no problem."

Lee heard the rustling of paper and waited for the receptionist to verify the addresses. "Ok, so that's Rocko on Washington, Martin on Geary, Paul on Stockton and Tony on Leavenworth" Gloria listed the first name of the lead technician with the address. Got it, Sir. I'll make the calls."

"Gloria you're beautiful. I owe you a bunch of flowers, what kind do you like?"

The receptionist giggled and hung up the phone.

"Norm, good news. Acme has radios in their trucks, the gal over there is putting a hold on the addresses as we speak."

"Finally, some good news. At least that'll give us a little more time to check them out."

00000

Steve looked at Lois. "Since it seems this will be my cause of death, I've gotta ask. Why is any of this my fault? I mean I know your husband died a year ago," Mike looked at him sideways, this was all news to him. "But I need to know what it's all about." Curious despite the dangerous situation, Mike had been poised to ask the same thing.

"I suppose I owe you that. "After I left France, there weren't a lot of people breaking down my door with job opportunities. I got a job at the prison clinic at Danbury. I met Alec there. _Coup de foudre,_ Love at first sight. He came in one day with a cut. My, he was handsome, but so sad. After the little affair at Mission High, and Alec's subsequent conviction, his wife divorced him. He really didn't care about that, but then there was Marc. Do you even know what happened to Marc?"

"No not really, I did read in the obituary you left in your locker that he predeceased his father, but how is it connected to me?"

"Typical, my dear inspector, typical. So focused on the pursuit of justice that you don't see the fallout from your actions. You know how Alec doted on the boy, I'm sure. Well, once Marc lost his slot at UCLA he was drafted. They sent him to Viet Nam. Emotionally, he was very weak, not at all like his father and after about 6 months they sent him home in disgrace. Heroin.

Mike looked at his partner, concerned where the story was headed. He knew how this information would affect Steve.

Alec was still in jail at the time. We had already decide to marry and move back to San Francisco to start a new life. Alec knew if he could just be with his boy, well he was so optimistic. That's when he decided to create Lomarc, a business we could all share."

"Marc came home to San Francisco but his mere presence disturbed the refined sensibilities of his _mother._ She refused to take him in, her own son. He wound up on the streets, that's how he came to be in the company of Terry Mumau."

"So the Anglins had nothing to do with this, it was just a coincidence?" Mike was astonished.

"Yes Lieutenant, a convenient coincidence. Mumau's expertise became a crucial part to my plan. Also, his history led you straight to me, just as I had hoped."

She sat with a sad smile on her face, "Let's get back to the story, shall we? Marc over-dosed just after Alec and I returned here. As much as he loved me, his grief over the loss of his son was too great. When I found his body, my dear inspector, _l'amour de ma vie_ dead, something inside of me died as well. Hence, all of this."

Steve looked at Mike, the anguish of a young life lost clear on his face. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

Mike mouthed to Steve, "It's not your fault."

"Looking at your eyes, I almost believe your remorse is genuine, Steve, but alas, it is too little, too late."

"Lois, please let Mike go." Steve's voice caught in his throat. "This isn't his fault, it's between you and me."

Lois laughed. "This is what I had hoped to share with you, Inspector. Real pain, the soul crushing anguish of loss. I'm not disappointed."

The sound of the generator ramped up, causing a pressure change in the room.

"Why did you kill Mumau?" Mike asked to keep Steve in check and the doctor occupied, all the while looking for an opportunity.

"Well Mike, not only had he outlived his usefulness, it was he who provided the drugs that took young Marc's life. His existence was forfeit, because of that transgression."

"Lady, who the hell gave you the right to judge who lives or dies." Steve asked quietly.

 _"…now the God of vengeance yields to me His place to punish the wicked."_

Steve was done. He surged forward only to be caught up by Mike.

"Easy buddy boy, don't do anything stupid."

"I DON'T CARE, MAYBE IT'S TIME TO DO SOMETHING STUPID. I'M DONE MIKE. I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS LITERATURE SPOUTING PSYCHO. LADY, I DON'T CARE IF YOU CAN QUOTE _THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO_ , COUNT DRACULA OR COUNT BASIE, NOTHING GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO JUDGE. THEY HAVE A NAME FOR WHAT YOU ARE DOING, IT'S CALLED HUBRIS. YEAH, I WENT TO COLLEGE TOO, BITCH. Steve was panting and winching, having expended more energy than he could afford to with his rant. Mike kept a hold on him, less to restrain him than to keep him from falling in a heap on the floor.

To Steve's chagrin, Lois ignored him.

A few minutes passed in silence before Mike spoke again, still holding on to Steve, "So, where are your friends, Lois?"

"Well done, Mike. Find out all you can about the enemy. They are not here, of course. I paid them enough to ensure that we are left alone for the final act."

The information was good news for both Mike and Steve. She was alone. If they could come up with some way to get the gun from Lois without getting killed, this would finally be over.

"You know they will check the building before they pump it full of poison, Dr. Staas."

"I'm surprised at you Lieutenant. I thought you had a much better feel for my methods. No, they won't check in here. Steve you remember Tony I'm sure?"

Steve nodded his head.

"There was a reason I hired him in particular. He has an exceptional blend of abilities. Not only is he an excellent _voyou_ he has a legitimate occupation as well.

"Steve ran his hand through his hair and spoke with resignation in his voice. "Don't tell me, let me guess, he's an exterminator."

" _Oui._ So you see, no one will interrupt. _"_


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: I tried to get this one out on Halloween, seemed appropriate; in the creepy poison filled house with the crazy lady and the gun, but RL got in the way. Once again thanks for all the support, it makes this so much more fun when you can share.**_

Spidery fingers of poisoned greenish-yellow fog crept under the doors and around the window frames. It pooled in writhing rivulets on the floor, looking almost alive. Time was running out.

Still holding on to his partner, Mike could feel Steve shaking. He wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion, blood loss or anger, but it gave him an idea. They needed a diversion quick. His plan was not without risk but barring a miracle, they were out of options and on their own. _Sorry buddy boy, this is going to be painful._

Mike inched forward. He had his hand wrapped under Steve's left arm, but he needed to get even closer to communicate without Lois hearing. One word. He needed to say everything in one word.

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"Lady, he's about to drop. So unless you want him unconscious for the end of this story, I suggest you let me continue."

"Oh no, we can't have that now, can we. Proceed."

Steve whipped his head around and looked at Mike with wide eyes. _What are you playing at?_ Mike gave him a subtle wink.

Mike was now directly behind Steve, with his arm encircling the young man's chest. He was so close that Steve could feel his breath on his neck.

"Faint."

Steve leaned his head imperceptibly to the right, lightly contacting Mike's face in acknowledgement. _This is going to hurt like hell, I hope you know what you're doing, Mike._ He dropped out of Mike's loose hold and tumbled to the floor.

He fell awkwardly in an attempt to protect his injured shoulder, failing miserably. His faux swoon threatened to become real as waves of pain overwhelmed his already overtaxed nervous system. Stifling a yell, he squeezed his eyes shut and desperately tried to level his breathing, listening for a reaction from Lois.

"Steve!" Mike called out in a believable impression of concern and surprise. If Steve hadn't known him so well, he would have been convinced. Steve sensed Mike crouching down and felt a hand gently shake his non-injured shoulder.

"I suggest you rouse the young man, Mike, I'm sure your methods will be a lot kinder than mine."

"Just let it go, Lois. We're all going to die anyhow, what difference does it make?"

"It makes a great deal of difference to me, Mike."

Steve knew Mike was trying to set the hook, using him as bait. If he could get Lois to come close enough, they might have a chance to surprise and disarm her. That didn't make the situation any less frightening. After the cavalier way she had shot him with the smallest provocation, he was sure he didn't want to know how she would try to awaken him. He also considered the possibility that she would shoot Mike out of frustration.

Now flat on the floor, Steve detected an unfamiliar odor. This must have been the bitter almond smell Charlie talked about when he determined Terry Mumau's cause of death. He struggled with a now urgent need to cough. _Please Mike, hurry up and make a move before it's too late._

Mike stood back up and taunted her, trying to impel her to action. "He's out cold. You're a doctor. You should have known this was a possibility when you shot him."

As much as he needed to see what was going on, Steve kept his eyes sealed and laid still. He noticed the absence of the hum of the generator. The chair creaked and Steve felt footfalls translated along the floorboards. He held his breath, waiting for some sign from Mike that the time had arrived to act. _Come on Mike._

Mike struggled to keep his body static, fighting for control of his raw nerves and adrenaline flooded muscles. He silently willed her to come nearer.

Chaos reigned as several thing happened simultaneously.

Lois stopped her progress just outside of Mike's reach. "This should wake him up," Lois said, kicking Steve in his injured shoulder. A torture scream split the silence as the well placed impact sent a searing torrent through the downed detective, momentarily robbing him of air and reason.

Mike used the distraction to move behind Lois, sidestepping the aim of the .38 and reached around in an attempt to wrest the gun from her hand.

The grab for the gun would had been successful if Steve, desperately trying to protect his body from another agonizing strike, hadn't rolled into Lois' legs knocking her from her feet. Mike, committed to his grab for the gun, tumbled as well.

The sharp report of a .38 roared from the center of the jumble of human flesh on the floor.

00000

Dan and Lee pulled their Galaxy up in front of the Washington Street address. It was only a few blocks from Dr. Staas' house. A black and white pulled in behind them. The home was shrouded with a colorful circus-like tent of red and white. The white van with the dead cartoon bug on top sat idle at the curb while Rocko Garcia leaned against the bumper, smoking a cigarette. They had already checked the house on Geary.

Lee flashed his badge. "You check the house before you tented it?"

"What do you think, fuzz? After that guy bought it the other night in the warehouse, the boss would have my ass if I didn't check."

"Mind if we have a look around?"

"I don't give a crap what you do, I'm on the clock," he looked at his watch. "Take your time, I'll be on overtime soon." He lit another cigarette while the two detectives entered the house.

Dan addressed the uniforms, "Keep our friend company, ok guys."

After a cursory search, Dan and Lee exited the house. "Thanks, dude. You can go ahead, now." Dan called as he and Lee returned to their car.

Lee picked up the mike and called to check in with Norm, "Inspectors 5-7 to Headquarters. Requesting inspector 306 meet us on Tach 2. Over.

"Roger inspectors 5-7." He waited several seconds to hear the call out and then switched his radio over to the more private frequency.

"Dan, it's Norm, you got anything?"

"Nope. Both addresses are clear, where are you at?"

"We just checked Stockton and nothing. If they aren't at Leavenworth, we're gonna have to start from scratch. Meet us there. You can cut the black and white loose. We have an escort with us."

"Roger that, be there in 10."

The two sets of detectives pulled up as one followed by a black and white. Norm was horrified when he heard the roar of a generator pumping cyanide gas into the house.

He trotted over to the technician who was deaf to their approach due to a set of sound suppressors covering his ears. Norm put his hand on Tony's back. Tony spun and stared at him with wild eyes. Norm flashed his badge and made a slashing motion with a thumb across his neck. Tony was unsure of whether to comply or flee. He saw the other 3 detectives and the uniforms. Compliance for now, escape later. He walked over to the generator and silenced it with a flick of a switch, pushing the head set off his ears and down onto his neck.

"What can I do for you officer?"

"We need in there now. Didn't you get a call on the radio to hold on this job?"

"Could be, but I didn't hear nothing with these babies on." He tapped the suppressors.

"Well, like I said, we need to get in there, now!"

"Why, I checked, it's clear. We don't want any more mistakes." Tony started to sweat.

Bill and Dan had been watching the exchange carefully, they looked at each other with the same thought, taking a step forward. Something wasn't quite right.

Norm was getting impatient with the man. "Inside, we need inside NOW."

"No can do bro. It'll take a while for the gas to dissipate." Tony shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. His hand came to rest on the pocket of his coveralls, which held Mike's police special.

The sounds of a shot echoed from inside the house. Tony reacted as if he heard a starter's pistol, shoving Norm to the ground and taking off down the street in the opposite direction. Already alerted to the man's suspicious behavior, Bill and Dan broke in pursuit. Norm righted himself and was pulled to his feet by Lee. They looked over at the canvas covered property, frantic to get inside. "Now what do we do?"

00000

Lois struggled to free herself from under Mike's weight. She flailed and kicked, her foot finally making contact with flesh; a fact confirmed by the loud "oomph" the action elicited. Her nails also found exposed flesh as she clawed viciously. The gun was gone, she'd lost control of it after she pulled the trigger but that was really not the point. She just needed to delay the two detectives, and let the cyanide do the rest. Her eyes burned and she breathed in choked gasps as the fumes washed over her and her adversaries.

Mike labored to pin the combative woman, but it seemed to him for the moment she had more than the requisite amount of arms and legs. He flinched as nails raked the skin on his face. Every part of his body seemed heavy and slow, like he was slogging through mud. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have had no difficulty subduing the doctor, but this was far from ordinary. He wasn't sure where the gun was, but it didn't seem to be in play at the moment. He was having a hard time seeing as the air around him grew ever more opaque with poisoned fog.

Mike had no idea where the bullet had gone or what condition Steve was in. This wasn't panning out the way he had envisioned it but he knew Steve was at least alive. A steady chorus of coughs from the direction where he had fallen confirmed that fact. His muddled thinking turned to the handkerchief in Steve's pocket. He hoped Steve was alert enough to use it.

Steve was at the lower end of the tangle on the floor, in target range of the doctor's feet. He'd heard the gun go off but was pretty sure that Mike had been behind Lois at the time. Everything was so confused. He tried to grab at the doctor's frenzied legs but ragged coughs wracked his lungs, sending shock wave of pain to his shoulder. He was starting to feel light headed and for some odd reason, the whole situation seemed funny. He'd been on the floor the longest, sunken in the miasma of cyanide. He shook his head, attempting to clear it and rolled to get away from Lois' thrashing lower limbs.

Once he was clear of Lois and Mike, he raised his head above the low lying vapors, searching for the gun. Steve spied the .38 on Lois' right, too close for comfort. He tried to get up but the room spun crazily, confounding his attempt. They had to get out of this poison soup soon. He laid back down on the floor and crawled to the right, inching forward toward the gun.

"STEVE!"

"MIKE!"

"STEVE, THE HANDKERCHIEF."

00000

Norm sped to the black and white, "This is inspector 306. We need additional units, fire and rescue, ambulance and the bomb squad at 1290 Leavenworth St, repeat 1-2-9-0 Leavenworth. And call poison control, we have possible cyanide exposure. Over." Norm waited for verification of the address and went to the back of the exterminator's truck swinging open the rear doors.

Lee ran to the front of the truck and found the radio, thumbing the mike to call the base station at the exterminator's. "Gloria, come in, this is the police, please pick up."

"Detective, what are you doing on this radio?"

"Don't worry about that, Gloria is there any way we can enter the building safely after the gas has been pumped in?"

She had to think a minute, finally responding, "Yeah, I think so. Look in the back of the truck. There should be a red box with safety masks in it."

"Thanks again Gloria, I think I owe you dinner now." Lee threw the mike on the seat and yelled back to Norm who was already rooting around the back. "NORM, the red box!"

Norm opened the box, Lee was at his side, grabbing for a mask. "What if it's rigged to blow?"

"Then it's been real, man." Lee slapped Norm on the back.

Norm directed the uniformed officers to coordinate the emergency units as they came on the scene and secure the street. He slid on the mask and drew his service weapon. Lee did the same. The gold-colored, hood-style masks made the detectives look like large, armed insects as they charged to the front of the tent.

00000

Bill and Dan chased after the fleeing Tony. He turned right on Jackson and ducked into an alley between two row houses. He pulled the .38 and waited in the shadows, hoping the pursuing detectives would pass him by.

Bill had seen Tony slip into the alley. He put a restraining hand on Dan, pulling him up short as they cleared the corner. The men tucked in close to the side of the building. Bill pulled his service weapon and Dan mirrored his action.

"You think he's armed?"

"Yeah Dan, if he's with Lois, I think he heavily armed. That woman didn't miss a trick. I mean, come on, she hired a thug and got him a job with the exterminator."

Dan pointed back around to the way they had come.

"I'll double back. Give me a count of twenty and then come from the other side, we'll trap him between us."

Dan retreated around the corner. The row houses in this part of town were riddled with cut-throughs and alleys. He took the first one he saw, silently counting in his head until he was at the far end of the passage way that contained the rogue exterminator.

He heard Bill call out to the man followed by footsteps pounding toward him.

"Stop, police," Dan called as he tripped the fleeing suspect when he attempted to turn the corner. Bill pulled up short of the downed assailant, cuffed him and pulled him to his feet. "How's it feel when you're the rat caught in the maze, Tony?"

Dan and Bill frog marched Tony back to the scene in front of the Leavenworth house.

00000

Steve searched his pocket for the ether laden cloth square as he inched up to Lois' head. Mike had managed to pin her arms, but she continued to thrash her head from side to side. Steve rolled toward the woman and flung his arm over the doctor's face, mashing the handkerchief on her nose and mouth, holding firm until the fight drained from her body. When she stopped struggling, Steve rolled to his back, panting and coughing.

Mike released her shoulders and tried to sit up, but found that the room was spinning too fast to make that possible. He too laid on his back on the far side of doctor and started to laugh.

"Ah, what you laughing at Kemosabe? Last I checked, we are still stuck in a house full of poison gas."

"Count Basie." Mike laughed harder.

"Count Basie?"

"You said she could quote Count Dracula and Count Basie," Mike started to croon _April in Paris_ in a bad Bela Lugosi accent.

Now Steve was laughing, "Mike your killing me, stop, we have to get out of here."

"I know." He continued to laugh and sing, punctuating the serenade with racking coughs. Minutes ticked by as both men were overcome by fits of giggles. "You know this is the oddest damn case I've ever seen."

Steve continued to titter. "I know what you mean Mike, and it just got even weirder."

"Hey Mike?"

"Yeah, buddy boy?" Mike choked out between guffaws and coughs.

"Why is that giant bug wearing Norm's suit?"

Both men dissolved into hysterical laughter as Lee and Norm gathered them up and carried them out of the building.

00000

"What the hell's the matter with them?" Norm asked.

Mike and Steve were laying on the ground, heads resting on Norm and Lee's suit jackets waiting for an ambulance. Both had oxygen masks over their faces, courtesy of the emergency vehicles that were now on the scene. Every time one caught sight of the other, the giggling ramped up.

"It's the cyanide. It compromises the oxygen levels in the brain, makes some people giddy." The doctor on call from poison control had arrived on the scene more quickly than even the fire department. He was a local resident.

"Do you see a lot of poisonings like this?"

"No, not really. Accidental poisoning from cyanide gas is rare. I assume this one was intentional."

"Yeah doc, it's a really long story. Are they going to be alright?"

"Should be, we just need to get them to the hospital and start the cyanide protocol. I don't think they are in any danger. The inspector there will need surgery to fix up that shoulder. Frankly, I surprised he's still conscious. He lost a lot of blood and it's gotta hurt like hell. He must be a tough kid."

"Yeah, tough alright," Norm cringed at the amount of dried blood on Steve's shirt.

"What about Mike's face?" Three dark red gouges striped his left cheek.

"Superficial, just needs to be cleaned up."

"Thanks, Doc. We're lucky you're local."

Norm looked at the inert form of Lois Staas, also on oxygen, laying slightly off from Mike and Steve. "Hey Doc, how's our prisoner?" Norm had gone back in to retrieve her limp form after Mike and Steve were safely evacuated from the building.

"She's out cold, but still alive. Your friend there said somebody knocked her out with ether?"

"Like I said, Doc, It's a long story. Is she going to make it?"

"That one's touch and go. It'll depend on how she responds to treatment."

Two ambulances pulled up. The drivers came over to Norm and the Doctor. After a brief discussion, Lois was loaded into an ambulance. "I'll go in with her." The doc pointed over to Mike and Steve who were still giggling at a joke no one could fathom. "You can put Heckle and Jeckle over there into the other ambulance. I'll see to their treatment at the hospital."

 **Epilogue**

Several days had passed since the events on Leavenworth Street. Mike sat dozing in a chair in Steve's hospital room. He'd been released the previous morning after recovering from pesticide induced cyanosis. Steve had been treated for the effects of cyanide poisoning as well, but followed up with surgery to remove the .38 slug in his shoulder. Steve woke up with a start.

"Mike."

"Welcome back, buddy boy."

Steve looked over at Mike who still had the marks from Lois' claws across his cheek but was otherwise fully recovered. He, on the other hand was sore, tired and somewhat medicated, his arm strapped across his chest.

"We're alive?" Steve said softly, hoarse from the effects of cyanide and anesthesia.

"Yep. It's over. The good guys won this time."

"Lois?"

"She made it. She's down in the prison ward. But I think she's headed for the state hospital. No way those head doctors will clear her for trial."

Steve shook his head at the news, just glad to see Mike alive. They sat in comfortable silence, each musing about what might have been.

Steve finally spoke. "I don't remember most of what happened, although I keep having a dream about vampires crooning big band tunes. I must have been really out of it."

Mike smiled knowingly. "It's still a little fuzzy for me too, but from what Norm tells me, it was really close, too close."

Steve grinned and closed his eyes. Mike reached over and put his hand on Steve's arm as the young man drifted back into a dreamless slumber.

00000

Steve paced back and forth. He wanted to go home after 4 fun-filled days as guest of San Francisco General. Gerry O'Brien had stopped by earlier with good new. His friend, James Mallory had worked his legal magic and restored Steve to the land of the living. The death certificate was voided, bank accounts and pay checks restored. He was ready to leave the hospital and resume his previous existence.

"Would you please sit down," Mike said impatiently. You're acting like a 5 year old. Mike smiled in spite of his gentle rebuke. He was just happy that things had worked out. He pulled the newspaper off the bedside locker and threw it at Steve. "Here, read this to me, I can't find my glasses. It'll be a few days before my new pair is ready."

Steve picked up the paper and flipped through the headlines. They weren't much different from the morning this whole mess started. Watergate, Patty Hearst, OPEC. He tossed the A section on the bed in disgust and picked up the B section, flipping to the obituaries.

"You're kidding me, right?" Mike said as Steve read through the death notices.

"Hey Mike, Bri Molen died. I guess we can finally close the file on Mission High."

"I hope so, Steve. I really hope so."

 _ **A/N: Well, here we are at the end of the road. I'm sure everybody figured out that the title of the story,**_ Greatly Exaggerated _**not only referred to the Mark Twain quote, but to the context of the story. Creepy French quoting ubervillainess, death related puns, impossible locked room scenario, masquerading nuns, scary compliance-inducing drugs, spooky houses filled with poison gas, cartoon references and booby traps. Kind of**_ Scooby Doo meets the SOSF _ **. All that's missing is a groovy pop music chase scene and somebody looking for their glasses, oh wait, Mike did that at the end! It was a blast to write. I really pictured Norm and the boys as the Scooby Gang, I'll let you decide who is who.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed the story and in the end felt that it was not a waste of your precious leisure time. Till we meet again on the Streets of San Francisco, adieu.**_


End file.
